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J'Aia fr^ACUZQ ^.^A VhYi 




Jewelers and Silversmiths 



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Joseph Dyer, Editor and Publisher 
Anthony Page, Associate Editor R. B. Hinkley, Business Manager 

Contributing Editors 

Ex-Senator James D. Phelan, Chairman 
Charles Caldwell Dobie Mollie Merrick 

Idwal Jones Anita Day Hubbard 

George Douglas Marie H. Richards 

George Sterling Rowena S. Mason 

Contents for November, 1926 

Vol. I 

No. 1 

Provincialism, By Charles Caldu'ell Dobie - -7 
Personality and Comment - - - - S 

Oh, Listen to the Opera, By Joseph Dyer - -10 
Sixty Years of Sock and Buskin, By Idwal Jones 11 
From the New York Comsponient - - - 12 
'^Three Tears," By Lloyd Buchanan - - -14 
San Francisco, A Lost Lady, By Anita Day Hubbard 15 
The Cinema's League of Nations, By Rowena S. 

Mason ------- 16 

Black Songs in While Mouths, By Mollie Merrick 17 
Society -------- ig 

Mostly About Books, By George Douglas - - 22 
The Adaptability of French Furniture to the Ameri- 
can Home, By R. Bernard Gellick - -23 
Designing as An Art, By Lucien Labaudt - 24 

Sport, By Owen Merrick - - - - -26 

Finance, By Oscar Fernhach - - - - 2S 

The San Franciscan is published monthly by The San Franciscan Publishing Company, 511 Howard Street, 

San Francisco, California, Subscription Price, one year 32.50. Single copies 25 cents. 

Copyrighted 1926 by the San Franciscan Publishing Co. 



^^ You hold in your hand the first issue of L=H^^^^^J 


This is our natal day and we hope to grow into a lusty youngster whose purpose is to fill a niche in the 
social, literary, artistic and musical sphere of our region, in an entertaining, enlightening and alto- 
gether satisfying manner; yet fearless in criticism, fair in discussion, and unbiased in partisanship. 
If We are not grounded in antiquity. We have no past to live down nor yet memories of what have gone 
before, to infiuetice us. Our purpose is to reflect the life of today for the amusement of those alive. Not 
that we do not appreciate the history of our pioneer fathers, those stalwart men who laid the foundation 
and developed the advantages which we now enjoy, but we believe the field of their endeavors has been 
capably covered by more aged publications whose roots were sprung in the yesteryears of the Argonauts. 
Therefore we dedicate ourself to the Joy of Living, and to the I'isioti of a Tomorrow eclipsing in 
grandeur all of the glorious Past. ^ We come to you with all the promise and enthusiasm of Youth; 
an Ambassador of the Rising Generation, heralding the pleasantries of the Time, those gatherings and 
activities which we shall depict through the eyes of a participant rather than those of an observer. We 
aspire to afford the Social World a medium with which to express itself, avoiding controversy and try- 
ing to represent all sets impartially. ^ To chronicle this era would not be complete were we to neg- 
lect political comment, hut we shall endeavor to maintain an independence and a friendship for all 
parties, yet reserving the right to indorse those, who, in our opinion, are the more worthy. ^ Our 
satire will be unbarbed, our humor unpointed, our wit coined for laughter only with never an 
offense intended. ^ In Art, our dissertations upon such exhibitions as are shown in this 
vicinity will be ably written by critics and reviewers capable and well qualified to opinionate. 
The doings of artists of consequence and the efforts of the aspiring amateur will receive 
attention and encouragement. *\ Feature articles by renowned writers and impor- 
tant personages will occupy pages of interest, profusely illuminated with photo- 
graphs and drazvings culled from the live incidents of the day, as well as replicas 
of the worth-while in still art. ^ Music, Drama and Cinema features zvill 
be our personal consideration. To this vital part of our cultural exis- 
tence. The San Franciscan will be ever partial. The theatres and 
concerts will he adequately reviewed and advance notes of offer- 
ings will be given proper announcement. ^ The Book 
Section will contain reviews on the gems of contem- 
porary literature by zcell known critics — The Mode 
Department, conducted by experts on style, will 
present the coming vogue from the marts of 
the world's greatest designers with com- 
ments and detailed descriptions. 
Golf, tennis, polo, and news of 
the turf and kennels will be 
related by champions and 
connoisseurs of the 
sports. K Trai'- 
els; items of 
popular in- 
terest gathered on 
the highways and in the byways; tid-bits of doings 
of San Franciscans abroad; affairs of New York and 
other metropolitan centers of interest to us; etcetera, 
etcetera; trying to keep united our bay region society whither- 
soever dispersed. That is our ambition; that will be our labor. 

"^ *?? 

The San Franciscan, exhaling the exotic charm of the Golden Gate; bathing in the sunlight of your 
anticipated favor; aspiring to the world-famous personality of the city of its birth, bends its knee to its 

masters, and expectantly awaits your approbation. 

Our Prologue Is Ended! Ring Up The Curtain! 

A bit of Italy transplanted to 'El Cerrito; estate of Jean de Saint Cyr at Hillsborough, Cal. 



(EDIXpR'S NOTE. Mr. Dobie, a San Franciscan 
by birtn, has for the past ten years held the dis- 
tinction of being rated as one of the four leading 
saort story writers of America by such experts as 
tdward J. O'Brien, Katherine FuUerton Gerould, 
and others. His third novel, "Less than Kin " 
which IS just off the press of the John Day Com- 
piny IS being acclaimed as one of the leadinc 
books of the year.) 

"IT HE word pro\incialism is usually 
a term of reproach. But it need 
not be. In fact, provincial places 
are apt to be places of great charm 
and flavor. Provincialism is often 
the result of isolation. And an 
isolated people are self-sufficient, re- 
sourceful and unique. I think that the 
past charm of San Francisco was its 
provincialism — its isolation. It was 
different, because it had to be. A 
community cut off from the main 
stalk of the civilization whence it 
sprang, by over three thousand miles 
of wilderness, had to develop its own 
background. Naturally, in the pro- 
cess it evolved original gestures, orig- 
inal gestures that have been relent- 
lessly modified by the pony express, 
the Overland Limited, the telegraph, 
the telephone, the radio, and the in- 
flux of Philistines. 

It was San Francisco that invented 
oyster cocktails oyster loaves and 
Pisco punches. All three a result of 
dire necessity. Immigrants from the 
Atlantic seaboard hankering for succu- 
lent and enormous bivalves as an ex- 
cuse for horseradish had to rest con- 
tent with midget oysters that they at 
first scorned. They softened the blow 
with tomato catsup and tobasco and 
oyster cocktails were born. Later on, 
having transplanted larger oysters to 
the western shore they also developed 
a conscience toward their better halves. 
Though why this last should be so re- 



mains a little obscure. After a night 
with the boys, they felt the urge to 
placate the lady of their heart with a 
tid-bit and the Chinaman at Gobey's 
saloon thought up an oyster loaf. 

The residents of the early "Fifties" 
found it difficult to get good bourbon 
whiskey from the "States." Were 
they faint hearted.' Decidedly not. 
They imported pisco from Peru, in- 

We still have the oyster cocktails 
and oyster loaves with us but the 
glories of pisco punches have departed. 
And the combination salad that was 
once the "piece de resistance" of the 
original "Coppa's" is now a pale and 
watery imitation flashed on every bill- 
of-fare in the country. 

The stamp of our glorious provin- 
cialism was still upon us as late as 
1919, that memorable year when I 
made my first pilgrimage to New 
York. I planned my entrance into 
Manhattan with the resolve that the 
populace bent on receiving me would 
never suspect that I was not to Broad- 
way and Fifth Avenue born. The 
first place that I essayed was the old 
Waldorf bar. Said the bartender: 
"What's yours, sir.?" Said I: "Make 
it a Gibson cocktail." He fixed me 
with a cold, fishy eye. "You, sir, are 
from San Francisco!" he chortled. 
From that moment on, I knew it 
would be useless for me to deny my 
heritage. Nor did I try. For I soon 
learned that to be from San Francisco 
was to be accounted a citizen of the 
world. Because San Francisco knew 
the world.? Not precisely. But be- 
cause San Francisco knew itself. 

Which brings me, after all this 

seeming digression, to my point. Would 
the San Franciscan, arriving at the 
Grand Central Station today for the 
first time in his life, have the where- 
withal for betraying his native heath.? 
I merely ask the question; I do not 
answer it. Because I think that upon 
the answer hangs the present and 
future, if not the past, of this one-time 
city of distinct moods and flavors. 

"But," you are doubtless asking, 
"have the distinct moods and flavors 
of San Francisco been exclusively bibu- 
lous and gastronomic?" By no means. 
Such a charge could scarcely be 
brought against any city that produced 
a publication like ''The Lark" of brief, 
happy memory. Gelett Burgess, the 
Irwins, Frank Norris, Gertrude Ather- 
ton, George Sterling, Geraldine Bon- 
ner, Ina Coolbrith, were all products 
of San Francisco's glorious provincial- 
ism. As was Sibvl Sanderson, Isadora 
Duncan, Maude' Allen, "Tad" Dor- 
gan. Isadora Duncan taught me my 
first dancing steps, in a little prim 
dancing school on Van Ness Avenue. 
Nance O'Neill is a product of San 
Francisco. David Belasco flourished 
here, along with David Warfield. We 
produced the first "gentleman" prize- 
fighter — James Corbett. Old "Em- 
peror" Norton was ours. And Duncan 
Nicol, the inventor of pisco punches; 
Addison Minzer, the man who made 
Florida swamps into dream cities, was 
a San Franciscan. Herbert Hoover 
came from this neck of the woods — at 
least he was reared here. James D. 
Phelan, a man who carved a political 
career for himself in spite of inherited 
millions, is a native son. We have 
(Continued on page 30) 

The San Franciscan 

THE visit of the Princess Achille 
Murat next month is being 
pleasurably anticipated by so- 
ciety. She is young and beautiful and 
gracious and rich. What greater com- 
bination need there be for one in whose 
veins flows the bluest blood of France? 
She is the daughter of the Marquis 
de Chasseloup-Loubat 
and granddaughter of 
Marquis Prospe de 
Chasseloup-Laubat, sec- 
retary of state for the 
navy and colonial secre- 
tary under Napoleon III. 
Her husband is a great, 
great grandson of Murat, 
King of Naples, who was 
brother-in-law of Napo- 
leon. He was with the 
French air force during 
the war and received the 
Croix de Guerre. 

'T*HE lure of business 
■*• in many forms has 
caused a number of San 
Francisco women to suc- 
cumb to its fascination. 

Comes now a gorgeous 
purple card with a bit of 
gilded paper fastened to 
it and inscribed with the 
names of Mrs. Baldwin 
Wood and Leon Habit, 

Mrs. Wood uses her 
maiden name, Gertrude 
Hyde-Smith. Habit is a 
business man who brings 
his experience as an as- 
set. Mrs. Wood brings 
charm and a wide ac- 
quaintance, exquisite taste and, her 
friends believe, talent for decorating. 

Then there is the shop at Burlingame 
where Mrs. Gerald Rathbone and Mrs. 
Eugene Murphy sell undies and things. 
Lingerie and Negligees, they advertise. 
Mrs. Rathbone has just gone abroad 
with her mother and sister, Mrs. 
Charles Josselyn and Miss Marjorie 
Josselyn, but will stay only long 
enough to stock up and take an 
appraising look at the French things 

which she is sure she can make or have 
made to resemble the originals. Not 
that she will not have originals. My, 
yes. But there will be the homemade 
ones for those who do not care to pay 
so much. 

Mrs. Rathbone and Mrs. Murphy 
were no doubt inspired by the notable 

Thf Princess Achille Mural 

success of the Ernestine Shop in Bur- 
lingame, conducted by Mrs. George 
Nickel. Miss Cornelia Kempff has 
a shop in Santa Barbara in the exotic 
"Street in Spain" quarter there where 
she sells robes and cushions and wraps 
of quilted silk. She recently had ex- 
hibits of her work in San Francisco 
and San Mateo. Miss Helen Garritt 
achieved a notable success designing 
gowns and produced some lovely 

In the real estate business here are a 
number of society women, the best 
known perhaps being Miss Sallie May- 
nard, Mrs. Macondray Moore and 
Miss Marie Brewer. But it remained 
for Miss Mary Ashe Miller and Mrs. 
James Swinnerton to start something 
reallv different. Under the firm name 
"The Publicity Engi- 
neers" they have opened 
a bureau which sells 

Miss Miller was with 
the publicity department 
of the Herbert Hoover 
Food Administration in 
\\'ashington, later in 
Paris with the Red Cross 
publicity bureau in 
France, subsequently 
with Anne Morgan and 
Ida Tarbell and more 
recently in Hollywood 
where she wrote scen- 
arios. Mrs. Swinnerton 
writes magazine and spe- 
cial articles under the 
name of Louise Scher 
and is the wife of the 
famous cartoonist who 
looks like Tom Mix and 
paints like a genius. 


EN ICE the diUe- 
tante city, the scene 
of many of the gaieties 
and carnivals of the "io« 
viveurs" who held forth 
so lavishly during the 
Renaissance and before, 
seems to be regaining 
her former social and 
festal prestige. The 
pleasure seekers of 
Deauville and Biarritz and the care- 
less frequenters of the Riviera are de- 
serting their usual haunts for the 
glamour of the Venetian moon as seen 
from the Lido. The coutourieres fol- 
lowing their clientele parade theii 
manniquins from the promenade in 
front of the Hotel Splendide and soon 
the atmosphere of antiquity will have 
been banished and replaced by a chic 
air of fashionable smartness for the 
pleasure of the monde soigne. 

The San Franciscan 

Where one who walked down the 
boardwalk or sipped his or her drink 
casually on the terrace of a Newport 
or Palm Beach hotel clad only in a 
very charming suit of pyjamas ''pour 
le sport," would unquestionably be the 
unfortunate victim of a rather sudden 
and painful arrest midst righteous 
rumblings from the Reform and Purity 
leagues, at the Lido such a costume 
would merely be in keeping with the 
mode, it seems. 

Chanel, Drecoll and Jeanne Lanvin 
display manniquins dressed en pante- 
lons and loose silk jackets, in a pyjama 
style. Thus is the fad made comvie il 

Fashion shows in which charming 
actresses from the Conservatoire de 
Paris display sixty years of feminine 
plumage, carnivals plus all the polished 
buffoonery of continental fiestas and 
gay abandon of Latin festivities are 
charming events created to amuse the 
brilliant crowd of spectators who are 
seeking to revive the glory of Venice 
not as a commercial power as before 
but as the pleasure center of Europe. 

* * + 

CAN FRANCISCANS have always 
^ prided and preened and plumed 
themselves on the literary output of 
those writers who claim our "good 
gray city" as birthplace or adopted 

Just now it looks as though there 
might be cause — or causes — for espe- 
cial chest expansion. A rich harvest 
seems forthcoming. 

Gertrude Atherton, who never loses 
her ability for intriguing her public as 
well as her friends, is living far out on 
California Street, putting in decidedly 
more than the legally correct eight- 
hour working day, weaving a romance 
of Aspasia. 

"Aspasia!" society says, and gasps 
in anticipation. 

The average day by day citizen is 
apt to be a trifle vague as to just how 
far that ancient lady did go but every 
one knows that there is ample material 
in her career for a novel that can make 
the recent adolescent school of "flam- 
ing" literature (?) seem a mere smold- 
ering heap of ashes. Just how far 
will Ger rude go.' Time and the 
published volume alone can tell. 

Charles Norris 1 kewise is lost to his 
friends for most of the twenty-four 
hours, seven days a week while he toils 
mightily as he always does at one of 
his intensive studies of present-day 
problems. What it is all about he re- 
fuses to divulge at present. Not even 
the name is known to his closest com- 
panions. Those who have been given 
hints of the subject matter therein 

declare it is going to be his best yet 
and will add more fame to that already 
heaped up by the "writing Norrises." 
Kathleen Norris has just finished a 
new series of those quaint and de- 
licious Irish tales for an Eastern maga- 
zine and she has a new novel under 
way which is going to delight her large 
school of ardent readers as it deals 
with those questions of love 
and matrimony which are stirring the 
world of society nowadays. 

Thomas Beer, whose Mauve Dec- 
ade has added materially to his al- 
ready considerable fame within the 
past year, was in San Francisco and 
hereabouts during the summer and is 
to be a Californian actually in resi- 
dence for a part of every year, he has 

Charles Caldwell Dobie has given 
the world a really characteristically 
San Francisco novel recently in his 
"Less Than Kin." Although he has 
had a sufficient number of flattering 
reviews to permit any man to sit back 
and realize just how delightful fame 
really is, he is thumping the type- 
writer just as industriously on another 
meaty plot as though he were trem- 
bling over his first efforts. 

Hugh Wiley, who is a modest soul 
and mingles not with those who pro- 
vide literary atmosphere and keep it 
stirring, is living at Los Altos. His 
stories of that marvelous goat, Lady 
Luck, who is the mascot of her utterly 
luckless colored owner are looked for 
just as eagerly however as though he 
gave himself unlimited publicity. And 
in all parts of that vast area covered 
weekly by the Saturda)' Evening Post, 
cries go up daily for some more yarns 
of that ancient Chinese servant who 
so characteristically guards the welfare 
of his employers. 

Harry Leon Wilson and Fred 
O'Brien wander over the face of two 
continents so continually and con- 
sistently that it is impossible to know 
just where they are at any stated 
moment but by their stories you can 
always know that they are still on the 
literary map. 

Senator James D. Phe'an did an 
altogether delightful book of his jour- 
neyings, "Travel and Comment," a 
year or two ago and his fasc'nating 
literary style has led his many readers 
to hope that he is secretly evolving a 
second example of what he does when 
he turns his versatile mind to literary 

Ednah Robinson Aiken says she is 
writing two or three novels but it is 
feared by her public that the garden 
which she is making a thing of beauty 
a her Palo Alto home is taking up too 
much of her time. 

npHE American-at-leisure seems to be 
■*■ vieing with his English cousin for 
the role of cosmopolitan and globe- 
trotter. The Riviera is popular with 
him for the number of amiable places 
to while away his hours and dollars. 
Little American colonies are now a 
fixture in most of the favored resorts 
and Americans are instrumental in the 
development of many new ones such 
as Santa Margherita and Rapallo. 
The Italian pleasure centers, espe- 
cially, are getting their share of Amer- 
ican patronage and \'iareggio has be- 
come one of the smartest resorts for 
the 'jolie monde' of all nationalities 
who seek the gentle Mediterranean- 
blown zephyrs and the azure blueness 
of the waters as a setting for their 

smart gaieties. 

* * * 

\/TRS. Oscar Fitzalan Long, presi- 
-'-•'■ dent of the Woman's Athletic 
Club, is one of the busiest women in 
California aside from her duties as 
club president. She is a devoted 
mother to two daughters and a 
doting grandmother but like Helen of 
Troy her attractiveness never wanes, 
for she has the imponderable quality 
of charm and lively interest in life as 

it is lived by all about her. 

* * * 

'T*HE formation of the San Francisco 
Garden Club is due to the inspira- 
tion, instigation and executive ability 
of Mrs. William Hinckley Taylor, the 

But even she did not dream of the 
innate love of gardens and gardening 
that dwells in the human heart until 
the Garden Club was a fact and her 
incumbency as president drew hun- 
dreds of letters from town and country 

There's Dr. Harry Tevis, for in- 
stance. His postoffice is Alma and his 
telephone is Los Gatos, but his ranch 
is more than a thousand acres between, 
and forty gardeners dig and hoe and 
prune and graft under his personal 

His dahlias took prizes this fall at 
the San Jose Flower Show, his especial 
pride being the seedlings which he 
grew at infinite pains. He loves to 
create, and names new flowers after 
his friends. There is a flame-color 
one which he calls the Senator Phelan, 
and another has been named for his 
cousin, "Edith Haggin." There is a 
cataract near the house with a water- 
fall of a hundred feet and this month 
the place is a riot of autumn color with 
Japanese nandinas picking out reds in 
the scheme. Lakes and rocks and 
twisted trees, lawns and blooms of 
exotic beauty make the place a rare 

The San Franciscan 

Oh, Listen to the Opera! 

T IGHTS down in the vast hall. 
'—' Faint scratching sounds from the 
orchestra; they will swell anon into 
the agonies of the overture. Sam- 
son et Dalila is being presented to a 
waiting West. 

The lady in the chair ahead shifts 
her ermine shoulder, releasing a faint 
camphor fragrance. Mothballs! Vital 
to opera as programs. 

"There's Marshall," she whispers 
audibly to her companion. "He's 
heavy enough to shove over the tem- 
ple anyway." 

"Does an abdomen like that consti- 
tute your idea of an athlete?" counters 
her escort, a typical business man try- 
ing to look like Otto Kahn with the 
aid of a dress suit, a score and a pair 
of platinum-rimmed glasses. 

"Look — here's Dalila! Isn't she 
marvelous.' Just think, a grand- 
mother — " 

"Why explain.' God knows she 
looks it." 

"I think you're perfectly horrible. 
It's wonderful for a woman that age 
to be able to sing Dalila." 

"It would be wonderful if my eighty- 
year-old grandmother could do a buck 
and wing; but it might not be an 
aesthetic treat." 

Silence — a shrug of the shoulders — 
another faint cloud of mothball per- 
fume. Dalila, with all the ingenuous 
seduction which size forty-six can 
bring to art, is making Samson aware 
that spring is here. He gives a loud 
cry, lurches two hundred and seventy 
odd pounds in her general direction, 
but is held back by a cautious arm. 
The curtains close. Applause — born 
in the claque and spreading rapidly to 
the human sea by virtue of contagion 
against which no human crowd is 
vaccinate — sweeps through the build- 
ing. A second and third encore; then 
a fourth, to make it even — 

On go the lights. The audience 
slides out of its chairs and seeks the 
lobby to battle for a promenade and 
a cigarette. 

Random fragments drift out of the 
jammed foyer: 

"Did you ever see such a Dalila! 
To think she's a grandmother! My 
dear — Marshall weighs three hundred 
and fifty and they say Homer is a 
grandmother! Look — there's her hus- 
band now. He writes music, or some- 
thing. Yes, Sydney Homer. He com- 
posed the 'Mandolin Song' — oh, 'Banjo 
Song' I remember now!" 


"Did you like that blue she wore? 
I think I'll have one; we're about the 
same coloring — " 

"Weren't you just thrilled? Wasn't 
the orchestration marvelous? Saint- 
Saens is the greatest of them all. I 
remember him here at the Panama- 
Pacific Exposition — " 

"Hideous music, isn't it? Just one 
wild yip after another! Awful orches- 
tration! Strings were too loud. Ans- 
seau was much better than this but I 
think this woman puts it all over 
d'Alvarez — " 

"What'll you have, Cliquot Club or 
White Rock? Opera makes me thirsty; 
guess I'll listen with my mouth open, 
ha, ha! Say, old Marshall makes that 
Belgian gink Ansseau look like a four- 
flusher, doesn't he?" 

"Hello Kim — doing my stuff. One 
a year's my limit — picked a lemon this 
time — No old girl like that'll ever 
come between me and my sweet mama! 
Hello Mac—HelAo Tom! Well, old 
timer, you an opera goer now? Never 
thought we'd end like this, did we? 
Wonderful show tonight. Homer's 
great and that Marshall fellow sure 
can sing. Twelve thousand five hun- 
dred dollar house — well you director 
guys ought to quit grousing now for a 
while. They can't say now we don't 
appreciate good music on the Pacific 
Coast. We'll make the old Met look 
to her laurels yet. Well, so long — " 

"I never was so bored in my life. A 
fat old woman and a tiresome man, 
neither of them singing well enough to 
excuse their being there. Hard seats, 
rotten acoustics. No more of this 
for me — " 

"Hurry up, Sally, let's not miss any 
of the last act: Dalila's going to do 
her worst!" 

"Say, don't we get that song 'My 
heart at your sweet voice' in this act? 
I love to dance to that — " 

"I know the big aria is a bit banal, 
but I really adore it, it has the atmos- 
phere of passion — " 

And so on — 

Back in the seats again and the cur- 
tains slowly part on Dalila's house. A 
flutter of applause from upstairs; 
recognition of the stage and scenic 
director. Hisses from various parts of 
the house. Applause interferes with 
the orchestra; hissing drowns it out 
completely but carries the satisfac- 
tion of being made in the interests of 

Dalila, warming to the great love 

scene with Samson, poses on the top 
step of her dwelling. She is directly 
in the path of a concealed spot-light 
and becomes a human shadowgraph. 

"Tch-tch — isn't that miserable?" 
from the mothball devotee, "it takes 
all the dignity out of her performance." 

"First human moment in the whole 
thing" grunts her companion. She 
switches away from him disapprov- 

The great aria comes — passes — the 
artists bow low, hand on heart and fall 
back into their roles again. Dalila, 
with a last seductive ululation, floats 
across the stage, leaping as lightly up 
the steps as great-grandmotherhood 
permits. Samson follows to the best 
of his ability. 

"Tough luck, old kid!" a voice from 
the dark behind us, "two pounds less 
than a horse." 

On with the lights. On with the 
promenade. On with the endless dis- 
cussion. It runs the same gamut. 
Isn't it marvelous, or awful, or fine, or 
terrible? Forty opinions can be gar- 
nered in forty yards progress. "Just 
think; a grandmother!" is the watch- 
word of the evening. 

Back again for the final act. The 
cushions are beginning to feel thin. 

A brief interlude — we wait in musical 
darkness for the curtain to part again. 

"Temple of Dagon," whispers a 
voice, reading from the program. It 
is a scene of oriental splendor. Riot- 
ing colors. Nude feminine beauty. 
Exotic postures. Abandon. Two 
huge pillars, scene of Samson's test, 
dominate the whole. 

On — to the inevitable debacle. Blind 
Samson, glorified, mounts the plat- 
form between the giant columns. In 
a stirring burst of song he approaches 
his climax. A mighty thrust of his 
body. The pillars fall outwards in 
neat mathematical blocks. From 
above falls a few scraps of paper. The 
scene is plunged into darkness. The 
curtains close. 

Lights on, revealing hundreds of 
freed husbands trudging motor-wards 
and bed-wards up the jammed aisles. 
Boys out of school. 

"Oh Tom, what'd you think of that 
temple wreck? Must have been built 
by San Francisco politicians, eh what?" 

''Sure I'll do eighteen tomorrow: I've 
earned some fresh air tonight." 

The San Franciscan 

Sixty Years of Sock and Buskin 

A Play-Reporter's Retrospect on the San Francisco Stage 


THIS city of ours is a "great 
show town." Why 
shouldn't it be? Or, in 
the superior and impudent idiom 
of the "Coo-coos" — what of it? 
Haven't we both the population 
and the requisite loose change? 
Haven't we eighty-eight movie 
theatres — as you may ascertain 
by checking up in the telephone 
book? Haven't we also what 
Max Reinhardt defined as the 
soul (almost) of the true drama- 
loving community-tradition? 

In the sense that Salzburg had 
tradition, or Vienna? Or Flor- 
ence of the Aretino days, or 
Venice when the theatre of Gol- 
doni was at its zenith? Hardh- 
that. These towns in their hey- 
day hadn't more than one good 
theatre apiece. Panem et circen- 
sis, the equivalent of hot dog:- 
and the movies, was the State's 
formula for distracting the atten- 
tion of the mob from politics. 
If a citizen had tried to chase 
away ennui otherwise than by 
going to hear drama (except by 
getting drunk or making love) he 
would have been hauled into the 
cabildo on the charge of hig.i 
treason. A surprising lot of 
quite innocent people got be- 
headed that way. 

Drama is engendered only in 
old communities. San Francisco 
was born a city full-panoplied 
after less than a year of camp- 
town gestation. The demonic 
energy of her people gave rise to 
a social life that was complex, 
mature and sophisticated. She 
became old before she was adol- 
escent. The city was so con- 
foundedly difficult to get to that 
when players finally got here they 
stayed, and became citizens pro- 
tem. Isolation, and the resul- 
tant intensification of social interests 
got in their work. 

Newcomers were greeted with shouts 
of joy. Biscaccianti, Matilda Heron, 
Anna Bishop, Mrs. Judah, Catherine 
Hayes and Junius Brutus Booth, Lola 
Montez and Adah Isaacs Menken — 
they came, and they tarried. Most of 
them were wise; they flattered the 
mob, lined their pockets, but gave the 
town something money cannot buy — 

LaJy Diana Manners 
From ihe portrait of Leo Kalz 

glamour. Meretricious gentry, some 
of them, but they made tradition, and 
their memory is caressing. 

Sixty years ago, the time the anti- 
macassar epoch began, dawned the 
classic age. A shaggy old Thespian, 
dewlapped like a bull, limped with a 
stick and carpet-bag full of collars and 
play-books, walked to his hotel from 
the Ferry. This was old Edwin For- 
rest, weary and already a millionaire. 

With him was John McCullough, 
handsome and just turned thirty. 
"It's nobody's damned busi- 
ness what I do here, Jack," he 
grunted. "I'll rant the Bard at 
'em, and they can take it or 
leave it." 

For weeks Forrest thundered 
in Shakespeare's tragedies, with 
McCullough playing lago, Edgar, 
and Macduff. The populace 
took it, at phenomenal prices, and 
the classics struck root. Old 
Edwin flitted, and McCullough 
tarried, to manage the California 
Theatre, which the genial capi- 
talist Ralston built for him. 

My apologia for rehashing 
these ancient annals is to stress 
the significance of this event. 
For the establishment of this 
stock theatre, the most success- 
ful, classic and brilliant in any 
English-speaking country, had 
a profound influence in the land. 
That stock acting can be per- 
formed on the heroic scale was 
San Francisco's contribution to 
the culture of the last century. 

I suspect the acting was pretty 
terrible at times. At others ex- 
cellent. It couldn't have been 
otherwise, what with Modjeska, 
who here got her start, with 
Fechter, Dion Boucicault, John 
Wilkes Booth. Lawrence Barrett 
and Barry Sullivan glittering in 
the processional of twenty years. 
Cn the boards of the California 
the eternal wonder, the ecstacy, 
the elective affinity of all dramas, 
the pageantry of the dead whose 
resurrection sanctifies the stage, 
was observable at the cost of 
fifty cents and up. Also comedy 
and bucket-of-blood melodrama, 
for the town, mind you, went 
to the theatre for the sheer fun 
of it. 

Fifty years ago there were two 
hundred wine and beer-room halls 
where dance and song were pur- 
veyed. The theatre was the one pur- 
chasable wonder in which San Fran- 
ciscans enhanced their emotions, or 
got out of or sank deeper into them- 
selves. Today, the drama has with- 
ered in contact with the mechanical 
wonders of the radio, the Saturday 
Evening Post, jazz, the automobile, 

(C)nlinueJ on pa^e 33) 

The San Franciscan 


From the New York Correspondent 

New York, Oct. 29. — There's no 
doubt about fall having sneaked up on 
Manhattan and its suburbs. Lo, here 
are the melancholy days when the 
spring coat from Franklin Simon's no 
longer repels the lumbago, and yet one 
hesitates about a winter purchase until 
it is decided whether they are to be 
worn long like Queen Marie's or short 
like almost everybody else's. The 
leaves fall off two or three trees some- 
where in the city (See the standard 
guide put out by Cook's) — the coal 
falls into the cellars, or on the side- 
walks — and the pedestrians into the 
excavations that the municipal author- 
ities have provided on most of the 
thoroughfares at the moment. But 
the rents rise. There is something 
peculiarly painful about the autumn 
rental in New York. The decorators 
never seem to have quite finished, and 
either the heat is a bit slow in coming 
on, or the elevator is laid up for repairs. 

Just when Mayor Walker has filed 
away his notes on "Salutations Appro- 
priate for Returning Swimmers," 
thinking, of course, the water must be 
too cold for butcher's daughters, 
school teachers, or mothers — these 
being the only types qualifying to 
date — Mrs. Schoemmell is sighted by 
the look-out some miles off shore. She 
is reported to be in even better condi- 
tion than when she started a few weeks 
ago, and to newspaper men who asked 
her whether operatic ambitions spurred 
her on, or papa had promised her a 
new roadster, she announced her in- 
tention of bringing suit for divorce 
from her husband upon her arrival. 
Of course, it is not known how great 
a spur this has provided along the 
way — but it seems a pity, too, that 
the idea did not occur to her earlier. 
The advertising possibilities of being 
the first divorced woman to win 
aquatic honors should not have been 

And since mention has been made of 
the mayor's heavy season in oratory — 
what with every boat and train bring- 
ing in shipments of Channel mermaids, 
queens, and prizefighters, it is no won- 
der he confines his greeting for the 
wife, on her sundry returns from 
abroad, to the single monosyllable 
"Oh!" Even after reading his inspir- 
ing address to Tunney on behalf of the 
city, that "Oh!" seems entirely ade- 
quate. It has never been disclosed 
what he whispered in the ear of Queen 
IVIarie of Roumania. 

This has certainly been an emotional 

year for New York, a year in which 
strong men have time after time 
rushed from their adding machines 
and typewriters, to seek relief for their 
pent-up feelings in the throwing of 
ticker tape. And think of the twenty- 
eight girls who lost a shoe apiece as 
they valiantly battled their way toward 
the casket of their favorite film lover! 
Two shoes apiece would have somehow 
expressed less anguish! 

But Broadway begins its season, 
and relief is in sight. For some time 


I sat on the curb and I said to the moon 
With a mellow September inflection, 
"Admitting the sky is terribly high 
And your view is in every direction, 
Just whisper to me some things that you 

In your lofty and lunar inspection," 

The pallid moon sighed before she replied, 
And then she said, "Since you demand it. 
On Avenue A I can see plain as day 
A cop in pursuit of a bandit. 
A boat full of gin is just coming in 
And the crew is preparing to land it. 

"On Riverside Drive where the chorus 

girls thrive 
I perceive a divorce in the making; 
And up in the Park where my shadows are 

A fugitive killer is waking; 
While all I can spy in Great Neck and 

Is dancing and cocktails a-shaking." 

"I hate to disturb," said I from the curb, 
"Your tale of the sights in the city." 
.^nd I also said, "I'm amazed at the 

Is there nothing that's righteous or 

The moon looked with care through the 

town everywhere 
.■\nd discovered — one innocent kitty! 

—P. G. W. in The Ne:o Yorker. 

the more popular dramatic offerings 
have tended to put less and less 
strain upon the emotions of the 
pleased populace — or upon its mental 
equipment. In an atmosphere where 
the mind may slip itself into a negligee 
one ought to find peaceful reaction 
from the hectic summer. In "Gentle- 
men Prefer Blondes" one does indeed, 
with no need for an apology from the 
authors or one's conscience, for it is 
just what it pretends to be — good 
entertainment, nothing more. "lolan- 
the" continues to gather in housefuls 
of elderly and middle-aged Gilbert and 
Sullivan fans left over from the mauve 
decade, and a most encouraging num- 

ber of this generation who are sur- 
prised to find out how good a show can 
really be — for it is exquisite. To be 
sure, there are always a pitiful few who 
can't imagine what it's all about. But 
they hunt up a revue or a movie the 
next night and recover their poise. 

The Guild Theatre seems to like 
Werfel, though many of its patrons 
are not so sure how they feel about 
him until after they read the papers 
the next morning. In "Maximilian 
and Juarez" a most creditable amount 
of thought and originality has been 
expended on spectacular effects. It 
appears almost, from this and recent 
Guild productions, as if the manage- 
ment were depending more and more 
upon the eye of the audience — less 
and less upon its understanding of 
dramatic values. Then, too, Alfred 
Lunt is submerged and inadequate in 
the leading role. 

"The Captive" and "Broadway"are 
the only two plays so far that have 
quieted the despairing howls of the 
critics. Even they have admitted the 
gripping drama of the first, and the 
excellent showmanship of the second. 
An unusual and unpleasant theme is 
artistically woven into "The Captive" 
plot, with no useless word or gesture, 
and one carries away an effect and a 
sensation of the perfect unity of it all. 
"Broadway" is of course melodrama, 
but the night-club life it depicts is 
melodrama too. 

The public has adopted a sweetly- 
complaisant attitude toward "The 
Countess Maritza" — one of those me- 
lodious shows that ends, as it should, 
with the correct juxtaposition of hero, 
heroine and villain. With the winter 
coming on, and the troubles everyone 
is bound to have with the ash-man, 
and the laundry-man, and the furnace 
— it is just as well to encourage senti- 
mental vibrations. "Deep River" 
seems to be a disappointment — with 
the authors gently reproached for 
having missed "that something" every- 
body obviously anticipated. 

Down in Aeolian Hall brave young 
singers — and some not so young but 
certainly as courageous — are making 
debuts, and trying not to care much 
what the papers say about them. The 
flowers are always lovely, but with 
all these months during which the hall 
has been dark, nobody has thought to 
dust off the fixtures hanging over the 

{Continued on page 32) 

The San Franciscan 


The great dramatic soprano who returns to the Chicago Opera Association after a 
triumphant engagement at San Francisco. 

The San Franciscan 

Th ree Tears 

In Which an Angel, Discontented with Celestial Joy, Finds Earthly Sorrow 


AN angel was unhappy; not that 
•^^ he had any fault to find with 
Heaven. It was perfect — too per- 
fect, and therein lay his discontent. 
The celestial monoton}' was unre- 
lieved by contrast. For remember: 
he was an Angel, had never been mor- 
tal, and knew no other life. 

Humbly he went before the throne 
of God, and humbly begged to wander 
through the world. An all-knowing 
God understood, knew that it wasn't 
Life's joys that he craved, but Life's 
sorrows — Sadness by which to meas- 
ure Happiness; Darkness to appreciate 
the Light; Life to value Death; and 
Earth to know Heaven. 

So God sent His Angel on a quest of 
tears; three tears to bring back, for all 
eternity to keep, and treasure. 


'T'HE night was bitter cold and crys- 
tal clear. Snow covered the city 
like a mantle, softening the hard out- 
line of the buildings, showering a rare 
tenderness over the squalor of the 
slums, as if trying to wipe out the dirt 
and filth in its own enveloping white- 

A disillusioned child lay wide-eyed, 
gazing through his tiny window at the 
stars, so bright and far away, fighting 
a fight that was very hard. He had 
betrayed a friend, to find his friend a 
myth, and he was alone in his sorrow. 

Deliberately he went back over the 
smashing of his idol, each detail of 
that wretched hour in school. He 
heard again the shuffle of little feet on 
a dirty floor, the endless noise of the 
city streets seeping through the grimy, 
tight-shut windows. From over his 
head came the tinny notes of an old 
piano, with the sweet thin sound of 
children's voices. "Peace on Earth, 
Good will to Men" — and then the 
teacher's voice, soft and rather velvety. 

"Children, I want to talk to you — 
about Christmas." 

There had been a rustle of excite- 
ment; then a silence, tense with ex- 
pectancy settled down. Slowly and 
in turn she asked by name: 

"Johnny, do you believe in Santa 
Qaus.""' and Johnny, with all the 
sophistication of the streets, had 
answered : 


He laughed a bitter, all-knowing, 
unmirthful laugh. So it went on; each 
questioned child had answered "No," 
and then — (the wide-eyed boy trem- 
bled as he lay in bed), the soft, modu- 
lated voice asked so trustfully, hope- 
fully, yet so despairingly: 

"Do any of 3'ou believe in Santa 

\Mth all the strength and force of 
his little soul he believed; had believed 
in a reality more real than God, closer 
and more intimate, who came each 
year from the far North Pole to bring 
him toys and comforts because he had 
been good. They were cheap toys and 
poor comforts, but that he didn't know. 

He had sat motionless at his desk, 
powerless to raise his grubby little 
hand, ashamed to profess his faith. 
He had gone back on a friend he loved. 

Awful revelation had followed this 
devastation. He was told of poverty, 
but poverty he knew — had known all 
the years of his short life. He heard 
of little girls and little boys like him- 
self who had no parents, little clothes 
and less food, no love, no home, way 
over somewhere across an ocean. No 
Santa Claus came to them because 
they were poor. 

There was a sob from the child in 
bed. Another sob came that he 
couldn't keep back, and then another 
— then tears, hot scalding ones that 
stung his eyes. There was a lump in 
his throat that he couldn't swallow, 
and somewhere inside his heart it hurt. 

* * * 

An unseen hand had gathered a tear. 

* * * 


""THERE was a cheap smartness in 
her dress, extreme, flimsy, and 
verging on the tawdry. Sheerest of 
silk encased her slender ankles, though 
her shoes showed the first signs of 
shabbiness. Peroxide explained the 
straw-gold of her hair, which gleamed 
beneath her small hat. There was 
youth in every line of her body, more 
revealed than concealed by her scanty 
clothes. Happiness danced in her 
eyes, and an unconscious smile played 
with the corners of her lips. 

The girl was humming now, a gay 
tune of the cafes, as she turned into a 
building bearing the sign "Two and 
Three-Room Apts." It didn't add, 
"No questions asked." You were sup- 
posed to know that. 

She was not unusual — a type found 
everywhere, neither prostitute, kept 
woman nor a virgin. She is known on 
the broad highways of loose living, yet 
fails to recognize sin in her surround- 
ings, giving freely of herself and love 
where her affection leads, forsaking all 
others and keeping only to the (some- 
times temporary) one. She is faithful 
and true as a die, above deception, a 
good play-fellow — a voluntary "mis- 

With difficulty she let herself into 
her rooms, whistled to a canar}* that 
chirped a welcome, dumped her par- 
cels in the absurdly small kitchenette, 
and turned a pirouette or two in the 

Just a year today she had been 
living here. 

"Oh, Jacky, you sweet old bird! 
Sing your very best song! It's an 
anniversary — he's coming tonight and 
tomorrow's Sunday! I do love him 
so — " 

Two hours and a half went by like 
minutes, but a very noticeable change 
had been accomplished. Her street 
dress had given place to a filmy negli- 
gee of palest rose. The drab little box 
of a living-room looked cozy in the 
glow of the shaded lights. A small 
table laid for two was drawn up to 
the not-too-uncomfortable davenport. 
\'iolets were everywhere, huge, lus- 
cious, fragrant ones, dark as a mid- 
night sky. 

"Jacky, do you think he will remem- 
ber I wore violets a year ago.' I know 
he hasn't forgotten it's an anniversary. 
He telephoned to say he'd come." 

She forgot the disappointment of 
his week-ends spent elsewhere, in the 
joy of this one to be shared. She gave 
her home its final inspection, re- 
arranged the bowl of violets in the 
bed-room. The rolls were piping hot, 
the coffee hadn't boiled over. Surely 
if love could flavor food, this was a 
savory feast. Such happiness could 
never be contained in the narrow con- 
fines of a wedding ring. Ceremony 
could add nothing to a love so perfect. 

There was a footstep down the hall, 
a key turning in the lock, and he was 
there! She rushed gayly to embrace 

"Dick! What day is—" She 
stopped where she stood, her ques- 
tion unfinished. Something had 
{Continued on page 31) 

The San Franciscan 

San Francisco, A Lost Lady 


A GARDENIA on the shoulder of 
a leather golf jacket. Rouge 
laid deeply on lips that are 
deeper red underneath. A painted 
woman who trusts her hair to the 
wind, and tramps the hills in the sun- 
shine, with deep and simple laughter. 
A grand dame of family who walks 
sedately in somber colors with short 
skirts and high heeled shoes. 

A city that takes an earthquake as 
an invitation to Charleston with Na- 
ture, and accepts the morning after 
with philosophy and a laugh. A city 
that makes of a devouring fire an 
illumination to dance to — and to 
build by. 

A city veiled like a bride in the 
ocean fog, and revealed like a great 
breasted amazon lying in the blue bed 
of the ocean when the sun shines. 

A city to live with, and to love, and 
to be tormented by, beloved and dis- 
tressing for the self-same qualities. 

San Francisco has lived. She has 
been the mistress of poets. She will 
never settle down to the placid, hum- 
drum of married life that a thousand 
municipal Mrs. Babbitts are thriving 

She is bad, mad, and dangerous to 
know. She is mysterious, and care- 
less — and generous to her favorites. 
She has no time for bores and charla- 

tans, save they be amusing charlatans. 
She is petulant with her artists and 
her poets and musicians. She will lis- 
ten to them only when they have won 
fame — singing the songs she has taught 
them, to other less fastidious ears. 

She is an exquisite and a gourmet, 
living elaborately and regarding food 
as a fine art, and dressing well as a 
religion. She plays at being earnest 
about this and that, and even con- 
vinces herself sometimes. But she 
will toss down her sword at a moment's 
notice if a fiesta promises. 

She has few of the Christian virtues, 
and all of the pagan. She has neither 
humility, nor meekness of spirit, nor 
does she love her enemies. She is 
tolerant, though, of all but bigotry 
and dullness, nor does she care what 
God a man may worship, nor for his 
grandfather's reputation, if only he 
be a good fellow in his own right, and 
mind his own business. 

She was born of roaring youth and 
glorious courage. She was fed at the 
breast of the gold veined hills, and 
warmed by the sun that glows into 
fire even as it sets, back of the Golden 
Gate. She learned to dance from the 
wind along the sea, and to sing from 
the deep sweet crashing of the surf. 
She laughs with the strong-throated 
courage that she inherited from the 

virile youngsters who violated the 
mighty hills and dammed the rivers 
in the gold rush. She knows the mad- 
dening charm of the castanets that 
sound through all her moods in deli- 
cate over-tones. And when needs be 
she can suffer and be strong with the 
spirit of Fra Junipero who knew and 
loved her first, and whom she has not 

She yawns delicately at uplift. She 
giggles at pomposity. She knows the 
world, and has chosen, through whim 
and willfulness, what she wants of it. 
She is almost frantically maternal to 
her own children, and perfectly in- 
different to strangers, though kindly 
enough and generous in small ways. 

She starts great projects, and ends 
by squabbling over the color of the 
sealing wax on the documents. She 
builds heroes, for the wanton pleasure 
of destroying them. She takes nothing 
seriously but her own pleasure, and 
the precious traditions of her vari- 
colored youth. 

There is no city like her, nor any 
people like her people, and perhaps 
that is just as well. There is excite- 
ment enough in this complicated 
scheme of things. 

To those who know and love her she 
is the most distractingly charming city 
in the world. 

The San Francisc an 

The Cinema's League of Nations 

Facts and Reflections on Hollywood's Foreign Invasion 


AMERICA rules the motion pic- 
ture industry. That is merely 
the statement of a more or less 
moth-eaten fact. But here is a ques- 
tion that begins to bother: "Do 

"The time has come" when there is 
no denying the so-called foreign in- 
vasion. But after all why deny it for 
actually it marks the injection of red 
blood into an anemic body. Further- 
more it shouldn't be called a new and 
alarming problem for this immigra- 
tion to Hollywood has been going on 
for the past two years. Because the 
"man in the street" has suddenly be- 
come conscious of it he brands it as a 
"menace" and waves his arms in pro- 

To those who have been close to 
the picture for years it is curiously 
interesting to watch the pendulum 
swing back on itself. Five summers 
ago a capable European played the 
title role in "Trilby." The excellence 
of her interpretation meant nothing to 
America. She was an alien and she 
was resented. A Los Angeles theater 
had to withdraw the film from its 
screen at the angered demand of its 
patrons. "Trilby's" return to the 
continent was forced for there were no 
more American contracts offered her. 

Today, we dance to a different tune! 
There is no little scramble to secure 
the services of the Negris, Bankys, 
and Garbos. Raquel Meller has signed 
a 3120,000 contract to play Josephine 
for Chaplin. She is the lovely Latin 
for sight of whom New York paid 
twenty-five dollars a seat, even as we 
of the West paid eleven. 

There are many who raise their 
hands in gloomy horror at this race 
after that elusive, delectable attribute 
known as "continental charm." They 
are foolish mourners for we have every- 
thing to gain and nothing to lose. 

Who could even whisper that Erich 
von Stroheini, the Austrian, or Ernst 
Lubitsch, the German, have been any- 
thing but needed assets to Hollywood? 
And there are other German invaders. 
Lothar Mendes and Michael Curtiz; 
Paul Leni, with his uncanny mastery 
of the unusual and grotesque; F. W. 
Murnau, with his passion for detail 
and emphasis on simplicity; and that 
latest arrival, the German with a 
French name, Andre E. Dupont, whose 
"Variety" is a milestone in motion pic- 
ture progress. 

Both Lubitsch and Murnau were 
students under Max Reinhardt. They 
are artists with a background of cul- 
ture and study that stands them in 
good stead. 

They have the tolerance to grant an 
audience the intelligence that it actu- 
ally possesses. They do not "write 
down" to an imaginary level at which 
the average mind is supposed to hiber- 
nate. Masters of light and shade they 
give their pictures a veiled beauty that 
is a relief after our American-directed, 
stereotyped productions with their 
flood of glaring light. Frequently they 
resort to symbolism confident that the 
audience will be able to interpret it. 
Often the event in the sequence of a 
film is left to the imagination. What 
an innovation! Time was when every 
detail of the story must be filmed and 
plentifully subtitled. These Germans 
have the courage merely to show a 
man wiping the blood from his hands, 
as in "Variety," and leave the murder, 
the feature of the story, to be imagined. 

Realists.'' Of course! And why 
not.' Isn't it better than the diet of 
sticky, sanctimonious tales on which 
we have been fed for so long a time? 

To the criticism that the Teutonic 
mind is ever profound and morbid, 
dealing only in the sordidness of such 
productions as "Variety," I offer Lud- 
wig Berger's "Waltz Dream" as argu- 
ment. Could anything be more frothy, 
more amusing or dealt with more 

These Germans combine suave so- 
phistication with the most charming 
naivete. They are able to do things 
simply, subtly and with a poignancy 
that is refreshing in its lack of self- 

But to Germans alone all superla- 
tive directorial praise is not due. There 
are Marcel de Sano, the Roumanian; 
Alexander Arkatov and Dimitri Bu- 
chowetski, Russians; George Archen- 
band, and George Fitzmaurice, French- 
men all; Benjamin Christiansen, 
Mauritz Stiller, and Victor Seastrom, 
from Sweden; Svend Gade from Den- 
mark, and Herbert Brennon, from 
Ireland, who has just completed "Beau 
Geste," with no little credit to himself. 
Each of these Europeans has added 
his different -flavored portion to the 
pot-pourri that is labeled "Made in 

Recently a motion picture magazine 
conducted a popularity contest. An 

examination of the names that ap- 
peared on the winning list proved a 
revelation. First among the men came 
the name of Rudolph Valentino. That 
was yesterday. Today, Rudolph Val- 
entino the man is gone but the mem- 
ory of him remains warm in the hearts 
of a work-a-day world that found in 
his shadow the symbol of Romance. 

Second on the role of honor came 
Charles Chaplin, formerly of London, 
ruler of our world of comedy with the 
fragile scepter of pathos. In third 
place came Adolphe Menjou, the 
French "menace to the love interest," 
who holds the world's record for being 
the cause of screen heroines leaving 
their handsome screen husbands. 

The rest of that list read like the 
roll call of a League of Nations. From 
England besides Chaplin there were 
Ronald Colman, Ernest Torrence, 
Percy Marmount, Reginald Denny, 
Clive Brook, Herbert Rawlinson, and 
Ralph Forbes. And from her domin- 
ions came Jack Pickford, of Canadian 
birth; Marc McDermott, of Australia, 
and Montagu Love, of India. Ireland 
boasts of the three Moore brothers, 
Tommv Meighan, Creighton Hale, and 
Pat O'Malley. 

Spain carried off honors with An- 
tonio Moreno and Ricardo Cortez. 
Our neighbor Mexico claims Ramon 
Novarro, while Lars Hansen, of "Scar- 
let Letter" fame, and El Brendel, the 
comedian, come from Sweden, the land 
of the Viking gods. Gustav von Seyf- 
fertitz, from Germany; Jean Hersholt, 
from Denmark; and Sojin, from Japan, 
completed the list of masculine names. 

Among the women Pola Negri tied 
for first honors with Mary Pickford, 
"America's Sweetheart," who was born 
in Canada! 

The rest of the favored included: 
Renee Adoree, French; Dorothy Mac- 
kail, English; Vilma Banky, Hungar- 
ian; Greta Garbo and Greta Nissen, 
Scandinavians; Norma Sherer, Ca- 
nadian; Enid Bennett, Australian; 
Jetta Goudal, French; Anna Q. Nils- 
son, Scandinavian; Gilda Gray, Polish; 
Pauline Garon, Canadian; Eileen 
Percy, Irish; Flora le Breton, English; 
Marie Prevost, Canadian, and Arlette 
Marchal, French. Add to these names 
the newer ones of Lya de Putti from 
Hungary and Dolores del Rio from 
Mexico and it leaves little doubt that 

{Coutinutd on page 30) 

The San Franciscan 

Black Songs in White Mouths 

LOUDER and louder it comes from 
gold-spangled jungle depths 
stamped with the rhythm of the 
winding Kongo; one with the lush 
black earth that, in torrid darkness, is 
opulent of life. 

It is the song of Africa's people: the 
song that only the sons of Africa 
should sing. 

Greatest gift to modern music, this 
young-old thing that fascinates and 
repels but draws you on and on for it 
has the one quality that marks all 
things great. It is not imitative. It 
is frankly original. It is determinedly 
so. Modulate it — moderate it, 
even — and the essence of it is 
suddenly gone. 

You cannot separate this 
gleaming stone of song from 
the dark matrix which con- 
ceived it. Flaws must remain 
— character must be kept — 
the familiar whites who touch 
this greatest gift of the Al- 
mighty to the negro, pay the 
swift sure price of mediocre 

Black songs in white mouths : 
how futile they are when you 
can hear them sung by the 
sons of Africa ! 

Roland Hayes may sing the 
"Adelaide" of Beethoven and 
be a transcendent artist; he 
may read Santoliquido's "Per- 
sian Poem" in a manner that 
no artist has ever done before; 
he can put into German lieder 
all its lines of classic beauty. 

But when he sings "IM-hhh 
Didn't It Rain.?" or "Sit Down" or 
"Crucifixion," he does something for 
the genre that no white can do. 

Then he sings out of his blood and 
his inherited instincts, fallow with 
suffering, heavy with the distilled tor- 
rid sunshine of primeval jungles, sen- 
tient with the subconscious awareness 
of his predecessors who have lived 
close to Nature. Then he is magni- 
ficent with that touch of God which 
flowers now and again, in man. 

The listener, thrilled by the name- 
less something which we have come to 
recognize by the word genius, bows 
before an artistry that is uftique be- 
cause the past has held no such phe- 
nomenon and the future can only 
challenge him through a member of his 
own people. 

I remember a little negro man — 
Leviticus N. S. Lyon I think they 
called him — who sang in Scottish Rite 


Hall, San Francisco, one evening 
almost two years ago. He opened his 
program with some old Italian and his 
voice, a slender lyric tenor with the 
husky minor of the black race, was 
passably good. The interpretation, 
though, was sadly lacking. 

The tiny African with the dignified 
name, passed on to an English group. 
Tosti's "Good-Bye" was probably 

Roland Hayes 

never before so parodied in the name 
of seriousness. Smiles, freely released, 
were put to shame a little later, when 
Lyon broke into "L'Heure Exquise" of 
Reynaldo Hahn. Lit by some ageless 
memory, his senses reached out and 
caught the sophisticated beauty of the 
Hahn and gave it out to us inimitably. 
Encored, he managed a repeat that 
would do credit to the greatest of 

That Reynaldo Hahn kept us in our 
seats until the final group. Who would 
leave a concert hall where such para- 
doxes were being wrought.? And, with 
the coming of the last group — negro 

spirituals and secular songs — the art of 
Leviticus N. S. Lyon came into its 

He sang as a lark sings in the morn- 
ing sun. He threw back his head with 
that "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" and 
the notes that came forth sprang from 
such hidden sources of melody as the 
hermit thrust calls upon at close of day 
in the still aisles of the wood. Those 
who laughed at the Tosti with its 
banal sentiments, applauded until their 
palms ached. 

In him it would seem that the arc 
which is the negro nature can touch 
two extremes — the extreme of 
sophistication, as revealed in 
the Reynaldo Hahn and the 
extreme of primitive song as 
given us in the negro seculars 
and spirituals. The mediocre 
became a jest on his lips even 
though he sought to endow it 
with the threadbare dignity 
which it gets from most ar- 
tists. The primitive in him — 
the tremendous subconscious 
that is his heritage from the 
jungle — could not accept medi- 
ocrity and, even against his 
conscious endeavors, cast it 
out as worthless, to his em- 
barrassment and puzzlement. 
On the surface he was a sim- 
ple creature. 

Another voice — Paul Robe- 
son — the basso-baritone who 
originated the role of "Empe- 
ror Jones" but who has never 
come to this coast. Like a 
black opal, that voice, fire- 
shot, color drenched, thick with velvet 
and molded in the sure glorious lines 
of ''the primitive. His record of 
"Water Boy" and "Nobody Knows 
What Trouble" were played one night 
in the House of Little Ships — it was 
tone that the white throat cannot 

John McCormack introduced a 
group of spirituals into one of his San 
Francisco concerts early this year. 
Admirably done as is everything which 
this tenor sings, they )'et fell short of 
the mark. Because they are the folk- 
expression of the negro and John 
McCormack is not of them. He may 
sing the melodic line which the Celt 
has spun out of his heartbreak, his 
years of oppression, his smile and his 
tear. But the folk-song of the negro 
is not for the white mouth. 
(Continued on page 32) 

The San Franciscan 



in the beautiful garden of her San Francisco home. 

A garden is a lovesome thing. God wot! 

Rose plot, 

Fringed pool. 

Ferned grot — 

The veriest school 

Of peace; and yet the fool 

Contends that God is not — 

Not God! in gardens! when the eve is cool? 

Nay. but I have a bign; 

"Tis very sure God walks in mine. 

Thomas Ed:vard Brown. 

The San Franciscan 

SO MANY socially important things 
have happened within the last 
few weeks that the season may 
be said to have partially receded into 

There was the Opera, the gowns and 
general reclame of which were much 
more interesting than the repertoire, 
which boasted not one new thing. 

The Symphony was launched with 
by no means all of fashion's approval. 

There was the wedding of Charles 
Crocker and Miss \ irginia Bennet at 
Denver, attended by the bridegroom's 
parents, Mr. and Mrs. William H. 
Crocker, his sister. Miss Helen Crocker, 
and his cousins, Mr. and Mrs. Temple- 
ton Crocker and his sister, the Coun- 
tess de Limur. 

There was the party, still something 
to dream about, at which Miss Janet . 
Whitman was presented to the friends 
of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Henderson at 
the Burlingame Club. 

There was the marriage of Miss 
Eleanor Martin and John B. Casserly 
at San Mateo October 23rd and the 
succession of town weddings. 

Which brings us to the debutantes 
and the Welch-Bruce wedding on No- 
vember 11th. Miss Florence Welch 
chose that date because it was the 
nuptial day of her parents. She will 
become the bride of Starr Bruce at 
the home of her parents, Mr. and Mrs. 
Andrew P. Welch, at their town house 
in Broadway, near Broderick Street. 
There is a private chapel there, a ball- 
room and spacious drawing rooms 
which will be sumptuous setting for 
the ceremony. Miss Marie Welch will 
be her sister's maid of honor and the 
bridesmaids will be Aliss Eleanor Mor- 
gan, Miss Idabelle Wheaton, Miss 
Kathryn Chace, herself just engaged 
to David A. Conrad, and Miss Frances 
Stent. Baltzar Peterson will be the 
best man. 

* * * 

^HE debutantes, naturally, will oc- 
cupy much of the stage, since youth 
will be served. Mrs. George D. Boyd 
will give a tea on December 28th at 
which her second daughter. Miss Cyn- 
thia Boyd, will be presented. The tea 
will be given at 2300 \'allejo Street 
where, the next night, Miss Boyd herself 
will be hostess at a dancing party for 
some two hundred guests, all of the 
younger set. On the evening of Decem- 
ber 28th Miss Patricia Clark, daughter 
of Mrs. Cecelia Tobin Clark, will be 


formally presented to society at a 
dinner dance to be given by her uncle, 
Richard Tobin, at the Bohemian Club. 
Richard Tobin, who is American 
Minister at The Hague, will return to 
California the first of December for a 
leave of absence from his diplomatic 
duties and will be here several weeks. 
When he was here a year ago he gave 
a similar affair for another niece. Miss 
Mary Clark. 

IMiss Eleanor Simpson also will be 
a debutante of the winter. She is the 
daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Thomas 
Simpson and attended Miss Burke's 
school here until last June. Mrs. 
Simpson was Miss Edwina Crouch of 
Sacramento and has been identified 
with the Sacramento set which includes 
the Crockers, the Alexanders (Mrs. 
Loring Pickering and Douglas Alex- 
ander), and Mrs. Alountford Wilson. 
Miss Simpson will make her debut at 
a large affair which her parents will 
give at their San Mateo home in 

'T^HERE has come about a custom, 
an unwritten law, as it were, that 
induction into membership in the 
Junior League automatically makes a 
girl one of the season's buds. There 
is a whole garden full of them this 
year, the list including: Misses Mar- 
tha Ransome, Ynez Mejia, Mary 
Clark, Geneva White, Virginia Phil- 
lips, Carol Klink, Constance Horn, 
Florence Loomis, Jean McLaughlin, 
Patricia Clark, \'ere de \"ere Adams, 
Emily Clift Searles, Margaret Fuller, 
Betty Klink, Geraldine Bliss, Claire 
Gianinni, Eleanor Simpson, Cynthia 
Boyd, Frances Stent, Dorothy Wil- 
liamson, Katherine de la Montanya, 
Evelyn Lansdale, Olive Watt and 
Ruth Langdon; and Mesdames Alex- 
ander Isenberg, Gordon Hitchcock. 
Merritt Olds, Andrew Talbot, Merrill 
Morshead, George Stevenson, Albert 
Whittell, Ray Alford, P. H. Beaver, 
and John Manners. 

TV/flSS ALiry Alice Martin, grand- 
^ *■ daughter of Mrs. Camilo Martin, 
is not making a formal debut this sea- 
son as is her cousin, Aliss Constance 
Horn, daughter of \Ir. and Mrs. 
William Palmer Horn (Grace Martin) 
of San Rafael. Instead, Miss Martin 
is taking a business course, training to 
become a orivate secretary. 

X/fRS. Harry Hill, who was among 
-'■ -^ the guests at an embassy dinner 
the other night at the Bohemian 
Club where the Chilean consul enter- 
tained, was handsome in a flame 
colored gown which accentuated her 
brunette beauty. Mrs. Hill has a 
young son of college age and a daughter 
who will be a debutante in a few years 
— one of the few girls who still wear 
their hair long. 

* * * 

npHE Junior League Spanish Fiesta 
to be given at the Fairmont 
hotel December 3rd is engaging the 
attention of the younger set quite as 
much as the coming-out parties, and 
it is expected that a crop of betrothals 
will ensue from the propinquity of 
daily rehearsals. Mrs. Howard Park 
is the president. Miss Kathryn Chace 
the secretary, Mrs. Alexander Wilson 
the chairman of the program commit- 
tee, and Airs. Kenneth Monteagle and 
Miss Evelyn McLaughlin in charge of 
the publicity. 

* * * 

\/fRS. James Parker is receiving 
a warm welcome home. As 
Julia Langhorne she was a belle here 
in the days when Airs. Templeton 
Crocker was Helene Irwin and Airs. 
Robert Henderson was Jennie Crocker. 
Aluch water has run under the bridge 
since then and in the interim Airs. 
Parker has traveled up and down the 
world and lived in many ports, as the 
wife of any naval officer is privileged 
to do. But Airs. Parker has the gift 
of getting much out of any experience 
and the consequence, or rather, the 
result, is a most fascinating Airs. 
Parker, one who has a sparkling bit of 
reminiscence to tell apropos of about 
any subject that may raise its head. 
She is with her mother. Airs. James 
Potter Langhorne, in Pacific Avenue. 

* * * 

\/fR. and Airs. John B. Casserly, 
■'■ ■* whose marriage took place Octo- 
ber 23rd, are to live for the winter, at 
least, in the home of his sister, Aliss 
Cecelia Casserly, at Alontecito. 

Aliss Casserly built one of the most 
artistic homes in that part of the 
state, the architect being George 
Washington Smith, who is said to be 
the last word in Spanish and Aloorish 
architecture. Aliss Casserly and her 
mother have planned to spend most of 
the winter in New York. 

The San Franciscan 

r^IPLOMATIC receptions and din- 
-^ ners and teas could be so much 
more in San Francisco than they are. 
The reason for the present state of 
affairs? No one knows. But they 
contribute to the gayety of nations in 
Washington and European capitals. 
San Francisco is not a capital, to be 
sure, but it is a metropolis and a sea- 
port set apart from other cities and by 
geographic rule of thumb should have 
a diplomatic cosmos all its own. 

The English Speaking Union fills 
the void in degree, but after all, it is 
only English speaking. There is a 
line in Kipling's poem on the English 
flag, "What do they know of England, 
who only England know?" 

With its nearness to South American 
cities which have an opulence that 
permits of the most lavish of enter- 
ing, it would seem that there might 
be more of the sort of thing which 
Garcia Huidobro of Chile did the 
other night. 

* * * 

ly/TR. and Mrs. Theodore Tuttle 
^^^ Smart have returned to Seattle 
after having spent part of their honey- 
moon here as the guests of the latter's 
aunt, Mrs. William Hinckley Taylor. 
Mrs. Smart was Miss Clementine 
Lewis, and is the only daughter of Mr. 
and Mrs. Allen Lewis of Portland. She 
has frequently visited with Mrs. Tay- 
lor and Mrs. George D. Boyd, her 
aunts, and has many friends in peninsu- 
lar and town society. The Misses Jean 
and Cynthia Boyd were bridesmaids 
at the wedding, which was one of the 
most important events of the season 
in Portland. 

* * * 

'TPHE marriage of Miss Harriet Paul- 
-*■ ine Clagstone and Harold A. 
Edmonson, whose engagement was an- 
nounced early in the summer, will not 
take place until after the graduation of 
Miss Clagstone from the University 
of California, according to present 

Miss Clagstone is one of the prettiest 
girls in society and among the most 
popular. She is a protege and the 
namesake of Mrs. Arthur F. Schermer- 
horn (Harriet Pullman Carolan) who 
has always taken a keen interest in 
her. She is the daughter of Mr. and 
Mrs. Paul Clagstone of San Mateo, 
and a sister of Kirk Clagstone, named 
after his mother, who was Miss Kirk 
of Chicago. Young Edmonson has 
been a frequent visitor to San Mateo 
from his home in Santa Barbara. 

The bride-elect is a graduate of 
Miss Harker's School and traveled 
abroad after a term at the University 
of California, returning only last 

June. After the engagement was an- 
nounced she decided to finish at the 
University before marrying. 

The betrothal was announced simul- 
taneously in San Francisco, New York, 
Chicago, and Santa Barbara, the 
family connections and friendships 
ramifying throughout the country. 

Edmonson is the son of Mr. and Mrs. 
Alfred R. Edmonson of Santa Bar- 
bara. He will be here for the Thanks- 
giving holidays and the two will be 
much entertained. By that time Mrs. 
Schermerhorn will be here and will 
probably fete her. 

^ * * 

A NOTHER engagement of interest 
■^^ in several cities besides San Fran- 
cisco is that of Miss Margery Blyth, 
whose marriage to Lloyd S. Gilmour 
of New York will take place early in 

Miss Blyth is the daughter of Mrs. 
Mary Blyth of Cleveland, Ohio, where 
the wedding will take place. She was 
a visitor in Burlingame last winter, 
the guest of her uncle and aunt, Mr. 
and Mrs. Charles Blyth, with whom 
she sojourned in Europe last summer. 

Messrs. Gilmour and Blyth have 
joint business interests in the East, 
notably in New York, where the 
Blyths are now staying at the Plaza. 

The bridegroom-elect is a former 
resident of Oakland, but for the last 
ten years has lived in New York. 
He Is a graduate of the University of 
California with the class of 191S and 
has many friends in and about San 
Francisco. He lives with his mother, 
Mrs. W. E. Gilmour, at Mayfair House, 
Park Avenue, New York. 
* * * 

'T'HE number of amateur actresses 
cropping up in society makes one 
think of the man who couldn't see 
the forest for the trees. Or the woman 
who said that there were so many 
people writing books that soon there'd 
be no one left to read them. 

Soon there'll be no audience, all the 
people being on the stage. Every year 
the Junior League Show reveals some 
mute, inglorious Bernhardt. Then 
there's the Player's Guild, with Mr. 
and Mrs. Templeton Crocker and Mr. 
and Mrs. Palmer Fuller taking a most 
contagious interest. Mrs. William T. 
Sesnon is perhaps one of the leading 
amateur thespians in the town set, 
her performances at the Century 
Club and the San Francisco Drama 
Musical Society, of which Mrs. William 
Hinckley Taylor is president, being of 
a high order of excellence. 

Mrs. Fentriss Hill, Mrs. Howard 
Park, Mrs. William Kent, Mrs. E. E. 
Brownell, Mrs. George Harry Mendell 

and Aliss Jean Boyd are others who 
take parts every few months in the 
Musical-Dramatic productions, which 
are always conscientiously directed by 
a professional coach. At these affairs 
the actresses mingle with the audience 
after the curtain goes down and drink 
tea poured by Miss Eleanor Morgan 
and Miss Laura McKinstry. 

* * * 

/^UPID has worked overtime in the 
Armsby family this fall, it would 
seem, two engagements being an- 
nounced within a few days of each 

Miss Leonora Armsby will wed Al- 
fred D. Hendrickson and Jeffrey Ken- 
dall Armsby of Ross will wed Miss 
Jane Russell of Wheeling, West Vir- 

Miss Armsby is a very pretty and 
attractive girl, a graduate of Dobbs 
Ferry, and a favorite in both the 
peninsula and town sets. She is now 
on her way to Paris to complete her 
trousseau. She is a sister of George 
Newell Armsby, Jr. and the niece of 
Miss Cornelia Armsby, Raymond, 
Gordon and James K. Armsby. 

Hendrickson is the son of Air. and 
Mrs. William Hendrickson of San 
Francisco, a graduate of Yale with the 
class of 1919. His brother, William 
Hendrickson, Jr., married Miss Aman- 
da McNear, daughter of the Seward 

* * * 

'T'HE history of Longleat, the beauti- 
•*■ ful Wiltshire place where the Mar- 
quess and Marchioness of Bath enter- 
tain so much for their son and daugh- 
ter, Viscount Weymouth and Lady 
Mary Thynne, is romantic even among 
the legends surrounding most English 
castles. It was in February, 1862, 
that the owner of this beautiful house, 
Thomas Thynne, was shot at the cor- 
ner of Pall Alall while driving home in 
his carriage from the Countess of 
Northumberland's house by three gun- 
men hired by Count Konigsmark, a 
cousin of the King of Sweden, whose 
jealousy had been aroused by Thynne's 
recent marriage to the heiress of the 
Percys, the only living child of Jocelyn, 
last Earl of Northumberland. Although 
only fifteen when married — against her 
will at that! — she was even then the 
virgin widow of the Earl of Ogle, eldest 
son of the Duke of Newcastle. 

Thynne, who was only thirty-three 
at the time of his death, left no heir, 
and it was the result of his murder that 
Longleat devolved upon a distant 
cousin, Sir Thomas Thynne, afterward 
first Viscount Weymouth and Baron 
Thynne of Warminster, a direct an- 
cestor of the present IXIarquess of Bath. 


The San Franciscan 





Mrs. Alexander Wilson 

Misi Evelyn McLaughlin 

Mrs. Iluward G. Park 

Mrs. Kenneth Monteagle 

The San Franciscan 


Mostly About Books 


in fiction?" she 
in fact?'" 

'"HAT next 

"What next in tactf" we 

"My question may be as foolish but 
is not so futile. We are better pro- 
phets of fact, though poorer critics. 
The movements of the stars may be 
predicted to the minutest fraction of 
a second, but when it comes to what 
they mean there are as many opinions 
as creeds, whereas a few weeks suffice 
for the same forgetfulness that is final 
verdict on most contemporary novels." 
"I don't object to foolish questions 
but only to those I cannot answer. 
But for the habit of asking unanswer- 
able questions there would have been 
fewer poetries, religions, philosophies, 
dramas, novels and political systems. 
They cannot all be true, but many of 
them are vastly entertaining and that 
is more important." 

"What is truth?" 

"The greatest illusion for the great- 
est number — an admirable test for 
fiction, provided we count by the dec- 
ades and not merely by the season's 

"But to return to your first query. 
The best answer I can think of is in 
an anecdote by Kathleen Norris. She 
had written a short story or novel and 
had sent it by turns to every editor in 
the countr}-. When there were no 
more editors left she was prepared to 
admit defeat, but not so her husband. 
Instead he started the manuscript on 
the rounds again, beginning with the 
first editor that had rejected it. He 
accepted it with enthusiasm." 

"Interesting, but not apposite." 

"I think so. Having gone the 
rounds of every conceivable form, size 
and subject matter it is possible that 
the next step in fiction may be back to 
where it first began — in the effort to 
tell an interesting story of interesting 

"Are vou an optimist or a pessi- 
mist?" ' 

"A little of both and not too much 

of either." 

* * * 

IV/f RS. Fremont Older was congratu- 
■* lating Jack Black on the publica- 
tion of "You Can't Win" (Macmil- 

"Now that you are an author they 
may admit you to the P. E. N. Club." 
"Oh, I've been admitted to the 'pen' 
many times." 


"'"pELL it not in Gath; publish it 
not in the streets of Askelon," 
even though they know all about it in 
Hollywood, but Fabian Warner of 
"Flaming Youth" is none other than 
Samuel Hopkins Adams, author of 

Now what becomes of the theory 
that it takes as much sincerity to write 
best-selling drivel as to write a really 

good novel ? 

* * * 

p'ROM "The Doctor Looks at Love 
and Life" (Doran) by Joseph Col- 

" 'Write me the truth about sex,' is 
the publisher's frequent appeal to me. 
* * * The truth about sex is a 
large order. No one knows the whole 
truth, and if he did would not be 
allowed to tell it * * » Were I 
to tell as much of the truth as I know 
about sex, society would frown at me, 
the postal authorities would forbid its 
printed circulation, some self-consti- 
tuted censor would hale me before a 
tribunal, and were I dependent upon 
patients for a livelihood, want would 
soon stare me in the face." 

Great Scott! Whatever can it be 
that the young novelists are holding 

out on us? 

* * * 

VirHAT does a champion pugilist 
^^ read in his spare time? 
"Snappy paragraphs with a punch," 
the office wag replies; but not so 'Gene 
Tunney — that is if we may believe 
the New York Herald-Tribune. Here 
are the authors he not only reads but 
remembers and talks about entertain- 

Shakespeare, Browning, Tennyson, 
Keats, Samuel Butler, Lytton, Dickens, 
Fenimore Cooper, Jack London, and 
Jeffery Farnol. How he mixes 'em! 
But as Browning might have said: 
I like to know a boxer reads 
And that his sparring partner 
The slangy, sanguinary screeds 
The papers print about the fights. 

* * * 

npHERE is more than association in- 
terest in "The Sublime Boy" 
(Seven Arts Co.), a collection of poems 
by Walter de Casseres, brother of the 
bewilderingly brilliant Benjamin who 
almost excels himself in an introduc- 
tion, some tributes in verse and a 

Walter wearied of life at eighteen 
and ended it twenty-six years ago. 

"He came, he saw, he yawned," writes 
Benjamin. But he also yearned for 
things he could not find or finding 
found them not worth while. 

His verse held more than promise 
and was frequently full achievement. 
The years had little to teach him of 
technique, and perhaps not much in 
the way of life, his youthful preface to 
which he understood so well that the 
rest of the volume held no tempta- 

It is a sad sign when one so young 

Aly world is built of dreams # * * 

And life is but a dream that gods 
more grand 

Have dreamed and given us to 

Poe tried to puzzle them out and 
suffered infinite torture. Walter de 
Casseres foresaw the suffering and 
"abridged the agony of years; * * * 
curtailed his Drama to a curtain- 
raiser; * * * compressed life to a 
song and a curse." It is not always 
well that your young men see visions. 

* * * 

VyRITING from Ponca City, Okla., 
Will Rogers says "cowboys sleep 
in silk pajamas, round up in Rolls 
Royces and dress for dinner. These 
open faces out here are marvelous." 
That last sends us back a quarter of 
a century to Mr. Dooley. "Whiniver 
I goes to a political meeting and the 
laad with the open wurrk face starts 
to talk about Grace and Rome, I 
reaches fer me hat, knowing that he 
ain't going to say anything that ought 
to keep me out of me bed." 

JDWAL JONES of "The Splendid 
Shilling" (Doubleday Page) knows 
"South Wind" better than he does the 
King James version or even the shorter 
catechism. At Hollywood recently he 
unburdened his enthusiasm to a gath- 
ering of the movie great. Only one of 
the company had read the book. 
"Shake," said the impetuous admirer 
of Norman Douglas. "Yes," was the 
reply that went with the extended 
hand, "but you may want to take back 
the shake when I tell you that I found 
it dreadfully dull." 

Not much of a story, but ever since 
hearing it we have been puzzled to 
picture the type of mind that could 
think "South Wind" dull and uncon- 
vincing. But you never can tell — 
Voltaire could not see Shakespeare. 

The San Franciscan 

The Salon in the home of Mrs. Harry Hill. A splendid collection of French Furniture. 

The Adaptability of French Furniture to the xA^merican Home 


HERE in America with its city 
avenues of towering apartment 
houses — its atmosphere of rush- 
ing, hurrying and something to be 
done, one is in need of a retreat which 
offers the rest that tired bodies and 
nerves demand. Whether the room 
which affords that retreat happens to 
be large or small, what could be as 
pleasing to the eye, or possess more 
accessories of comfort, than one decor- 
ated after the French manner? 

But when one suggests the use of 
French furniture for the room one 
has to live in, it does not seem to con- 
vey the sense of true comfort which 
the American — more sturdy in taste 
than his Old World brother — demands. 
However, this is proving quite the 
contrary, for due to the genius of the 

decorators of our day, articles of 
furnishing that were out of the ques- 
tion a short time back, are being em- 
ployed in modern decoration with sur- 
prising results. In a very short time 
the idea that comfort is not to be 
found in French furniture will have 
disappeared completely. 

What could be more gratifying than 
after a tiresome day, to find oneself 
seated in the luxurious comfort of a 
Begere, a chair that owes its origin to 
the pannier — (a fashion in women's 
dress) t Though not created for com- 
fort, having been designed to give 
ample room to the voluminous folds 
of that mode of the hour, it survived 
its original use and as early as the 
reign of Louis X\' developed into a 
thing of beauty and comfort. Con- 

structed along the same lines, the 
effect of these chairs varies consider- 
ably, due to the shape of the back, 
style of legs, and covering used. The 
Begere therefore affords an unlimited 
range of possibilities, whether it be in 
the salon of the mansion or the small 
living-room of the apartment. 

Equal in comfort to the Begere is 
the Canape, which varies in size, from 
the smallest, seating two, to the large 
size seating as many as five or six. 
These delightful pieces with their 
graceful curves and luxurious uphol- 
stery cannot be equaled by any form 
of the settee; with perhaps the excep- 
tion of the day-bed as conceived by 
the French. The latter masterpieces 
of perfection can be had from the 
(Continued on page 34) 

The San Franciscan 

Designing as An Art 

Relating the Principles of Painting and Sculpture in Creating the Mode 


THE main object of this series of 
articles is to promote the idea 
of creation in America. At pres- 
ent we find ourselves in a position 
where we can make a big step forward. 
For twenty years I have watched the 
slow progress of evolution that will in 
time free this country from foreign 
fashion. However, we have not yet 
arrived; for some time we shall need 
Paris as a source of inspiration and 

We are now beginning to understand 
that creation of dresses is the applica- 
tion of the fundamental principles of 
art to the living figure. The creation 
of dresses is an art between painting 
and sculpturing. Composition is the 
division of a given space. The model 
is the given space of the dress creator 
as the canvass is that of the painter 
and the block of granite that of the 

Since designing is an applied art, it 
follows that one must be an artist to 
apply these principles. The designer 
must know just what these principles 
are; he must know the meaning of lines, 
angles, curves and color. He must be 
able to put his imagination to work 
daily. He has not months in which 
to decide upon something which will 
be an answer to his patrons' demand. 

Designing has given new blood to 
all industries for it is based upon vital 
principles. It is only by studying art 
that one can learn those things essen- 
tial to become a creator, the real 
architect of one's work. In one word, 
the designer must be able to apply his 
knowledge to any and every branch of 
industry. Modern training is a devel- 
opment of the individual's creative 
powers as opposed to the old academic 
training which was only imitation. 
Because the academic art was an art 
of imitation, it died. "Dead or alive," 
which do you want to be.'' 

San Francisco is alive. A glance back- 
ward will satisfy the most skeptical. 
Twenty years ago this city was in 
ashes; today it stands the most mod- 
ern and most active city in the West, 
with the best surroundings possible. 
It stands in an inspiring land which 
stimulates the imagination, creates 
artists and makes artists creators. 

That is why my San Francisco and 
your San Francisco is already the art 

center of the West. Our art schools 
are the most advanced of all the art 
schools in the states of the Union, 
New York and Chicago included. Our 
women are the best dressed, carrying 
out that wonderful simplicity of 
attire which always has been and 
always will be the mother of elegance. 
This alone would be enough to tip 
the scale in favor of San Francisco 
as an art center. There is still more — 
the unsurpassed gifts of nature — which 
make her unique in the western hemis- 

We San Franciscans have everything, 
and thanks to the co-operative and re- 
ceptive public, everything is flourish- 
ing. Let us keep it up until San Fran- 
cisco will be not only the art center of 
the W^est, but of all America. 

Now that we have an "apercue" of 
how styles are begun by applying the 
fundamental principles of art to the 
living "given space" I will tell you of 
what I have seen in Paris and how one 
can work parallel to without copying 
nor even buying models which are so 
soon made common by the manufac- 
turing of them by the thousands. 

Paris is the Mecca for inspiration; 
everywhere one finds things that are 
interesting. The mind of the creator 
of fashion is always alert waiting to 
catch new ideas, in whatever field they 
happen to be and apply them to his 
particular work. He gets ideas from 
glassware, wrought ironwork, build- 
ings, landscapes, etc., etc. The first 
thing I do when I go to Paris is to visit 
the museums, to see the past; then I 
visit the modern galleries, to see the 
future, for painters and sculptors give 
the spark that sets modern industries 
in motion; then I go to the races where 
I see the application of these ideas to 
modern fashions, as advanced models 
that will probably be worn by the 
"Grand Public," for from six months 
to a year after. I go to the theatres 
to get inspired not only by the fash- 
ions of today but also by the beautiful 
period costumes. 

This season the striking note is the 
use of sheer materials — chiffons, crepes, 
georgette, romaine, etc., for evening, 
afternoon, and sports wear. This is 
the normal evolution from the cubiste 
"Degrede," from light to dark or from 

dark to light with modifications. Noth- 
ing could give a better impression of 
this than layers of chiffon placed one 
on top of the other so that we have the 
very light at neck grading down to the 
very dark at the hem. 

Because soft materials require pleat- 
ing and tucking to give them body, 
marvels have been discovered this sea- 
son in that ancient field of "garni- 
ture," pleating in lozenges, the box 
and inverted pleat, the sun-ray pleat, 
and other combinations of pleating. 

Coats after an attempt at the flare 
effect have come back to the straight 
line again. Instead of being in one piece 
as of yore, the piece is divided into 
geometrical patterns, symmetrical and 
eurythmical to suit different types. 

Furs of all descriptions from the 
plain little insignificant rabbit to the 
magnificent and sumptuous peltries 
from the steppes of Siberia and the 
wildernesses of Labrador, are used this 
season. Here in San Francisco, I have 
used a fur never used before, thanks to 
a customer whose husband was travel- 
ing in the Philippines and sent her some 
bat skins. This fur is a soft brownish 
gray, between hair and down, and 
most remarkable when used as a trim- 
ming. If it had been first used in 
Paris it would have been heralded as 
a great discovery; here it would have 
passed into oblivion had we not at our 
disposal "The San Franciscan." 

Painted fabrics are also used a great 
deal this season. This is not a novelty 
to me, as I have been painting scarfs, 
sleeves, and even whole dresses for my 
personal friends, for many years. I 
have also introduced the use of egg 
shell after the old Chinese fashion, a 
process brought to light by the modern 

After this short summary of the fall 
fashions we have also a forecast for 
spring. Our spring is in advance of 
that of the East; we are bound to be 
ahead, for when the East is still deep 
in snow we have already worn our 
spring clothes for several months and 
therefore no longer depend upon east- 
ern openings. Many easterners who 
have spent the winter here go back 
with clothes. When asked if their 
gowns come from Paris now answer, 
"Oh, no! they come from San Fran- 

The San Franciscan 

T E CYGNE—An individ- 
ual creation for the even- 
ing, blue and silver metal 
tissue trimmed with an im- 
mense bozv'of blue tulle de 
sole attached with gold and 
blue lace motifs. 



wrap of black and rose 
velvet, trimmed with platinum 
fox, conceived along geomet- 
rical principles. 

lyjAVY blue woolen rep 
afternoon dress with 
cape. Long waisted — semi- 
wrapped skirt having pleat- 
ed inset handed with gray 
chiffon, which matches bat 
fur on cape. 


The San Franciscan 



ELMET bearers with padded 
figures surging up and down the 
gridirons of America form the 
sport picture for November, with an 
ever-increasing host of fans crowding 
our great stadiums. To enthusiasts 
of these precincts the Stanford-Cali- 
fornia game on November 20 is some- 
thing devoutedly to be wished for. 

In the glades of Strawberry Canyon 
a Golden Bear team, tattered and torn, 
will muster all of its strength and skill 
to bring back some little honor to the 
institution through victory over the 
mighty forces of the Cardinal 

Banditry will again come to the fore 
with holdup men walking the byways, 
searching for a big game ticket which 
looms up like a Kohinoor in late No- 
vember. The big game is quite the 
thing — not only for the dyed-in-the- 
wool critic, who knows every shift 
and every formation, but to the curi- 
ous, the halt and lame; for one who 
does not join in the festivities on that 
occasion is a thing apart. 

This has been no year for kings nor 
for queens — if one may except Marie 
from the turreted castle of Bucharest. 
Proud California where once the Won- 
der Team illuminated the heavens, is 
now but a counterfeit of the past, 
basing their hopes on fight which has 
not deserted them. But when the big 
game arrives all pre-season reckonings 
are forgotten. Form never counts in 
this gigantic struggle which attracts 
more spectators than any other foot- 
ball event in America. 

The Oregon Aggies and the Trojans 
have reached the heights for the first 
time in years, while Washington and 
Oregon, glorious in the past, have 
taken their places in the underworld 
with California. 

The brilliant showing made by the 
St. Mary's eleven which has been 
running like a well-oiled machine, 
leaves the question of supremacy on 
the Pacific Coast very much in the air. 

Yale rose to great heights early in 
the year to overthrow the Dartmouth 
machine, but later succumbed to 
Brown. Then Harvard, just breaking 
into form with Horween at the helm, 
lost to Geneva and Holy Cross, but 
brought back memories of the great 


days of Haughton by eliminating 
Dartmouth from all further considera- 
tion as a champion. 

Princeton has not lived up to the 
standard set by some of the great 
Tiger teams of the past. The decision 

Lord Wodehouse 

of both Yale and Old Nassau not to 
scout has perhaps hampered these 
teams somewhat, although the full 
extent of the move will not be deter- 
mined until the season is over. 

In the Middle West Michigan and 
Ohio builded great teams this year, 
but Chicago has perhaps the weakest 
team since the era before Walter 
Eckersall. Coach Yost at Ann Arbor 
and Coach Wilce at Columbus have 
developed some fine material. 

/CALIFORNIA mallet men are en- 
deavoring at every jump to popu- 
larize polo, one of the most spectacular 
sports we have in the realm of Ath- 

The appearance of Lord Wodehouse 
here this season should do much to 
add new devotees to the game. The 
great English player possesses a world 
of color properly fitting in to any 
combination desired. He is a fine 
horseman and his dashing play has 
earned him the name of the Eckersall 
of the greensward. 

When Lord Wodehouse visited Del 
Monte last year he expressed a desire 
to return to California. He realized 
the added interest in the game and 
predicted that in ten years this section 
would be the mecca for all who enjoy 
the sport. 

He will return here this season to 
play with George Gordon Moore who 
has gathered together a formidable 
aggregation. So enthusiasts in the 
bay district will have an opportunity 
to watch this very capable gentleman 
perform at El Cerrito and other fields. 

Two years ago Cyril Tobin, who 
has been one of the most active sports- 
men in promoting and creating inter- 
est in the game, predicted that this 
section would have fifty players of 
merit within three years. With an- 
other year to pass before this is verified 
we find more than that number dash- 
ing up and down the field battering 
the willow with their mallets. 

The San Mateo Polo Club has done 
much to promote the sport here. The 
public stand testifies to the interest 
and this season promises to be one of 
the greatest in history. Cliff Weather- 
wax who has thrown aside his brassie 
for the mallet, has gathered together 
some fine "cattle" for the season. He 
had two magnificent mounts at Del 
Monte last year that Lord Wodehouse 

The San Franciscan 

George Gordon IMoore will have his 
stable back for service while Tom 
Driscoll, Willie Crocker, Willie Tevis, 
Archibald Johnson, Lewis Carpenter, 
and others will take the saddle for 

Polo enthusiasts in the East are 
awaiting the appearance of the Cali- 
fornia polo stars with Eric Pedley, 
slated for a place on the international 
team. The great showing of the Mid- 
wick team on the Atlantic Coast has 
done much to give California pub- 
licity — and valuable publicity at that. 

The Presidio, Berkeley, Aptos, and 
other organizations such as Stanford, 
where the game is growing, have 
helped greatly to interest the general 
public in the sport and with the San 
Mateo Polo Club setting the pace we 
may expect much this season when 
Lord Wodehouse arrives. 

A NEW record for yachting interest 
■'*• was set this year when more than 
Li,000 spectators gathered along the 
Marina to watch the silver sails with 
spinnakers up sail by before the wind. 
The southern delegation were at their 
best in light weather, but with strong 
winds Arthur Rousseau and his Ace 
had no difficulty winning from the 
Alert III, a light-weather craft. 

Now that the public has taken an 
interest in yachting as a sport, we may 
expect to see big features in the future. 
Clifford Smith, Arthur Rousseau, and 
other enthusiasts are devoting much 
of their time planning events which 
will be of interest. Don Lee with his 
Invader was on hand during the re- 
gatta and his work coupled with the 
endeav^ors of Hiram Johnson, Jr. did 
much to create interest in a sport that 
had lacked the proper introduction. 

* * * 

U*EMININE golfers in this section 
are endeavoring to revive interest 
in the Pebble Beach championship 
which promises to be the Pacific 
Coast's premier event for the members 
of the fair sex. 

The appearance of Edith Cummings, 
Mrs. Fred C. Letts, Louise Fordyce, 
Dorothy Richards, Rosamund Sher- 
wood and a host of other stars from 
the East, with Mrs. H. G. Hutchings 
from Winnipeg, always a welcome 
candidate, indicated that this feature 
was the one to look forward to. 

Last year the interest waned and 
there were few eastern visitors. Marion 
Hollins has been the perennial cham- 
pion, and deservedly so, as she has 
played very brilliant golf in all of the 

The opening of the Castlewood Club 
this year will bring together some of 
the best amateurs in this section. Re- 
cently the first hole was opened at the 
former estate of Mrs. Phoebe A. 
Hearst and all who visited this de- 
lightful spot near Pleasanton, found 
it Arcadia. 

npHE "Motor Car of Tomorrow" 
— This phrase from the language 
of the California Sportsman pre- 
faces a tale of a smart powerfully 
motored miniature of our present-day 
good car, one that will retain the 
mechanical excellence of a Packard, 
Lincoln, or Cadillac. 

Present-day traffic conditions cry 
out for this "Car of Tomorrow," since 
town driving has become less and less 
a utility due to crowded thorough- 
fares and limited parking facilities, to 
say nothing of the expense of upkeep. 

It can be done — it has been done. 
Europe has solved this problem with 
the tiny models of England, France 
and Italy. These cars are dapper and 
luxurious in appearance and the motor- 
ist of means takes a pride of ownership 
in them accompanied with the feeling 
of confidence one appreciates while 
driving an automobile that is an auto- 
mobile in every sense of the word. 

There are many small American 
makes that cost little and rattle much 
— the type that is an economical fac- 
tor, a family necessity to those who 
can not afford the best. The time has 
arrived when the man of means who 
likes to drive himself and is willing to 
pay 32000.00 or more for the privilege 
must be served. 

To quote a well-known dealer. He 
says, "My factory is at present ex- 
perimenting with just this type of car 
with a view of entering this field 
opened through traffic conditions and 
the realization of the small car's ad- 
vantages. There will always be a 
market for big motor cars just as 
there is a market for steam yachts, but 
each year it is shrinking in favor of 
small car development." 

Already numerous automobile com- 
panies are manufacturing middle size 
models, but these are not up to the 
mechanical standard of their larger 
products and are only built to meet 
competition in their respective class. 
Authorities predict that this "Car of 
Tomorrow" will be of a standard that 
America does not boast in the light 
car field of 1926. It will be new from 
stem to stern; just when the American 
motor industry will give birth to the 
small car of quality, which will not 

need the constant attention of an 
automotive nurse, is a matter of 

The January San Francisco Auto- 
mobile Show is expected to bring 
forth many surprises. Even the floor 
of the Civic Auditorium has its park- 
ing problems and the baby cars will 
lessen the exhibitors' space worries. 

Wouldn't we love to sit behind the 
wheel of a small, smart, quick thing 
of speed with a speedier motor.' Per- 
haps we will when the designers of 
the automotive industry present their 
brain children to a long-waiting pub- 
lic— H. B., Jr. 

••■^ recent issue of "Thf Spur" writes 
an interesting article on the American 
golfer on Continental courses. Mr. 
Herberhart says: 

"The casual visitor to Rome, going 
out on the Appian Way to the Cata- 
combs of St. Calixtus, is likely to be 
astonished to find the familiar cry of 
'fore' greeting his ears close by the 
burial place of the early Christian 
martyrs. No doubt he would also be 
astonished to know that Rome has 
had a golf course since 1902. A few 
English and American residents, find- 
ing this sport essential to their happi- 
ness in Italy, acquired a site at Acqua 
Santa, less than three miles from 
town, and today the Rome Golf Club 
possesses a finely laid out course of 
eighteen holes — with no artificial haz- 
ards but with plenty of difficulties to 
be negotiated. 

Although this club owes its exis- 
tence to American and British initia- 
tive, sixty per cent of its three hun- 
dred members are now Italian — a fine 
illustration of the growing national 
interest in the sport. With the King 
as its patron, it has Don Prospero 
Colonna, Prince of Sonnino, as its 
president, while the honorary presi- 
dents are Henry P. Fletcher, the 
American Ambassador, and Sir Ron- 
ald Graham, the British Ambassador. 
Thus is emphasized most felicitously 
the tripartite international character 
of this organization. R. C. R. Young, 
who has devoted so much of his time 
to the club for many years, is the 
honorary treasurer and Robert Gor- 
don Morrison is the secretary. 

The Menaggio and Cadenabbia Golf 
Club has been in existence a quarter of 
a century or so. The course is most 
picturesquely located between Lake 
Como and Lake Lugano, some fifteen 
hundred feet above sea level and a mile 
from the Grandola station. 

The San Franciscan 

By Oscar H. Fernbach 

THESE are the days when, more 
than ever, the large cities of the 
western shore of these United 
States are striving for supremacy. 
Los Angeles to the southward, and 
Seattle and Portland on the north, 
seek to vie with the city at the Golden 
Gate, watching her with envious eyes, 
and hoping some day to equal her in 

Along some lines, perhaps they may 
— some day. The task will be a 
mighty difficult one, at best. But in 
one direction, at least, their hopes will 
prove futile. San Francisco ever has 
been, is and ever will be the financial 
and commercial center of the Pacific 

Its geographical location, primarily, 
guarantees it the eternal champion- 
ship in this regard. It stands, the 
gateway to the Orient, and the great 
relay point on the commercial high- 
way from the Pacific slope to the 
coasts of Central and South America. 
It is most directly connected with the 
great financial, commercial and indus- 
trial centers of the vast region east of 
the Rocky Mountains. There passes 
annually through its splendid harbor 
a tonnage that is exceeded only, in the 
United States, by the port of New 
York. From it radiate the shortest 
and most direct roads to California's 
vast agricultural and mining sections. 
To its warehouses pours steadily the 
stream of California's products, on 
their way to the four quarters of the 
globe. In its strong-boxes are found 
the funds sufficient to promote most 
of California's enterprises without re- 
course to Wall Street. Its financiers 
stand in the highest rank of nationally 
and internationally known bankers. 
The resources of its financial institu- 
tions are surpassed by but few of those 
of New York or Chicago. Close at 
hand, the development of the indus- 
trial area in cities which, though 
politically separated from it are part 
and parcel of its great metropolitan 
district in a geographic and economic 
sense, gives it added solidity and pre- 
eminence on the Pacific shores. 

No sudden boom — no inflated oper- 
ation has brought about these envi- 
able conditions. The financial strength 
of San Francisco has been accomplished 
by a steady growth, influenced ob- 
viously by the fundamental economic 

advantages which were bound to im- 
pel it forward to a position which no 
other city might hope to attain. 

In the financial development which 
has characterized the entire country 
since the World War, the fortunes of 
which transferred the seat of the 
world's monetary dictatorship from 
Europe to the United States, San 
Francisco has taken an important part. 
The past six or seven years have been 
characterized by a local growth of 
financial importance exceeding even 
the most sanguine expectations. Space 
is lacking here more than to touch 
upon the national and international 
expansion of the business of the Anglo 
and London Paris National Bank, of 
the Bank of Italy, of the Mercantile 
Trust Company and its recently ac- 
quired partner, the American Bank, 
of the Crocker-First National Bank, 
and of others of this city's financial 
institutions. One may only mention 
briefly, likewise, the vast expansion 
of industrial and commercial enter- 
prises whose fiscal affairs find their 
center in San Francisco — among them 
a number of the big oil corporations, 
the public utility organizations, and 
similar institutions. 

Perhaps the development of these 
enterprises is most strikingly reflected 
in the growth of the local financial 
market. The San Francisco Stock 
and Bond Exchange today stands 
second only to Wall Street in volume 
of business done, and in value of 
securities sold upon its floors. The 
field of investment has grown apace. 
No longer need the San Franciscan, 
nor, indeed, the Californian generally, 
turn to Eastern enterprises to which 
profitably to confide his funds. One 
need but point to The Pacific Gas & 
Electric Company, the Pacific Tele- 
phone and Telegraph Company, the 
Paraffine Companies, Inc., the Cater- 
pillar Tractor Company of California, 
Standard Oil Company of California, 
California Packing Corporation — to 
say nothing of the banks and vast 
holding corporations — as just a few of 
the organizations whose stocks and 
whose bonds have far greater latent 
possibilities than those of the greater 
number of corporations that are listed 
on the New York Stock Exchange. 

As to the business done by the port 
of San Francisco, one need but refer 

to the statistical statement of the 
Collector of the Port, for the month 
of August (the latest available figures), 
to realize the steady growth of this 
city's import and export trade. 

During the month in question, the 
value of our exports was 317,043,689, 
the largest of any corresponding period 
of any year save those of the World 
War. At the same time, there passed 
through this port a total of ?14,827,893 
of foreign imports, to say nothing of 
domestic imports amounting to 316,- 

CAN FRANCISCO is also great in 
'^ another respect. The port of ex- 
portation for millions of dollars worth 
of manufactured goods, textiles and 
foodstuffs, shipped yearly from all the 
commercial centers in the United 
States to the Pacific islands, the 
Orient, and Australasia, it is also the 
port of entry for immense shipments 
of materials from distant trans-Pacific 
climes. Ideal in every way for its 
office as the gateway to the greatest 
republic in the world, San Francisco 
with its immense population of thriv- 
ing people, its modern and ample stor- 
age accommodations for goods and 
materials pending transit, its markets 
and marts, its sound financial institu- 
tions and its plenteous and splendid 
docking and harbor facilities, is des- 
tined to take its place as the greatest 
seaport in the world. 

To facilitate the realization of San 
Francisco's potential era of greatness 
ECT has been planned and is an 
evolution from the original effort to 
locate a satisfactory industrial plant 
location on San Francisco Bay to the 
realization of the dire need for a 
modern industrial center having deep 
water facilities and finally to the con- 
ception of Port San Francisco which 
experts and engineers consider the 
most excellent solution of the manu- 
facturer-to-shipper problem. The 
greatly augmented commercial and in- 
dustrial prosperity that this compre- 
hensively conceived and scientifically 
constructed project will bring to the 
San Francisco district is little realized. 

The Port is to be located about 
twenty miles down the peninsula and 

The San Franciscan 

on the deep water channel of the bay. 
Containing about four thousand five 
hundred acres of land and with two 
and a half miles of bay frontage, it 
extends to the tracks of the Southern 
Pacific and has liberal frontage on 
the county road and the State High- 
way. The Bay Shore Boulevard will 
also pass through the property. 

Contracts have been executed for 
the dredging of approximately twenty 
million cubic yards of material which 
will create fifty thousand lineal feet of 
wharfage with a depth of thirty feet. 
Thus one thousand acres of industrial 
land, filled properly, no part of which 
will be more than twelve hundred feet 
from deep water will be made avail- 
able for industrial sites. Industrial 
highways and belt line railroads will 
serve the plants which will receive 
every provision for adequate freight 
express and transportation service. 

The City of Port San Francisco, to 
be model in every respect will lie on a 
very desirable site of land which 
stretches between the boulevards and 
is being designed by Harland Bar- 
tholomew, the nationall)' celebrated 
city-planning engineer. 

Thus will San Francisco be bene- 
fited by a project that will enhance 
her prestige, glorify her harbor, utilize 
her wonderful natural resources, and 
greatly assist her industries. 
* * * 

COME of the lines of industry of 
'^ which San Francisco is the undis- 
puted center for the Pacific Coast are: 

The Furniture industry; San Fran- 
cisco having, in addition to her sixty- 
nine furniture factories, the largest 
and finest Furniture Exchange west of 

The Apparel Manufacturing Cen- 
ter; with a new eleven-story Apparel 
Center Building just being erected to 
provide a market center for this grow- 
ing industry. 

The Coffee industry, with twenty 
coffee roasteries in San Francisco. San 
Francisco has become so well recog- 
nized nationally as the Western coffee 
center that the United States Govern- 
ment has recently ordered that all 
bids for coffee ordered by the Navy 
shall be opened in San Francisco. 

The Sugar industry; the only sugar 
refineries on the Coast being here, one 
of which is the largest in the world. 

The Steel industry; with largest 
mills on the Coast. 

This list could be extended indefi- 
nitely, taking up line after line in which 
San Francisco is the manufacturing 
center, an enumeration which would 
lead us all the way from chocolate and 
salt to tennis rackets and savings 





One of the Oldest Banks in California 
the Assets of which have never been increased 
by mergers or consolidations with other Banks 


526 California Street, San Francisco, Cal. 

JUNE 30th, 1926 

Assets - - $109,430,478.72 

Capital, Reserve and Contingent Funds 4,400,000.00 

Employees' Pension Fund over $557,000.00, 

standing on Books at 1.00 

MISSION BRANCH.... ■•- - Mission and 21st Streets 

PARK-PRESIDIO BR.\NCH.... Clement St. and 7th Ave. 

H.\IGHT STREET BR.\NCH...- Haight and Belvedere Streets 

WEST PORTAL BRANCH ■- .AVest Portal .\ve. and Ulloa St. 

Interest paid on Deposits at the rate of 

FOUR AND ONE-QUARTER (4'4) per cent per annum, 




Finance & 
Commerce Co. 


Importers and 



150 California Street 
San Francisco 

Investment Securities 

E. R. Gundelfinger, Inc. 

Kohl Bldg. 
San Francisco 

Hoefling, Hendnckson & 

Investment Securities 

Crocker First National Bank 


900 State St.. 

The San Franciscan 

produced almost everything to date 
but an Aimee IMcPherson. Which is 
only another way of proving that our 
provincialism has been untainted by 

But, all this is in the past tense. 
The question before the house is, 
what are we producing nozv? How 
are we surviving the assaults of Main 
Street? What resistance are we offer- 
ing to the blandishments of Broad- 
way? — which is after all, merely Main 
Street glorified. Are we substituting 
the provincialism of the mob for the 
provincialism of individuality? 

One of the charges that has always 
been brought against San Francisco is 
that her citizens lack the goose-step 
caliber of mind that takes program 
from boosting clubs whose real busi- 
ness in life is to mentally Prussianize 
us. A charge which has never af- 
frighted me in the least. How we all 
fought and bled and died over differ- 
ences of opinion regarding everything 
about the Exposition, from its site 
down almost to fixing the date of its 
closing. What calls to arms! What 
trumpeting! What dreadful parley! 
In short, what fun! 

What was the result? One of the 
most beautiful expositions in the his- 
tory of the country. A thinking pub- 
lic is always a scrapping public. One 
learns by listening, not by prostrating 
oneself before the Juggernaut of the 
"puU-togethers." If San Francisco 
had been filled with what is so often 
misnamed by Main Street boosters, 
community spirit, her exposition would 
have been built by local concrete 


{Continued from page 7) 

mixers and plumbers — instead of by 
the artists of the world. For it takes 
a city that has produced artists to 
realize that it has no corner on the 
creative market. We have made mis- 
takes, many of them, but I would 
rather be a mistake in a community 
with zest enough for a fight than the 
most glorious achievement possible in 
a flock-minded commonwealth. 

But how long will San Francisco at 
once preserve her spirit and her charm? 
How long can she suffer the slings and 
arrows of outrageous rotarianism? For 
the deluge of mob provincialism is 
upon us. How long will we be a city 
of hotels named for St. Francis and 
Mark Hopkins instead of a city of 
hotels called the Ritz-Carlton and the 
Biltmore? How soon will "Tait's-at- 
the-Beach" be known as the "Moulin 
Rouge," let us say? And when will 
"Child's" restaurants descend upon 
us? When will the name of \"alencia 
Street be changed to South Market? 
When will the Alcazar Theatre be 
called "The Gaiety"? Ah, you are 
laughing, my friends! You think my 
fears either trivial or unfounded. If 
you think them trivial, I have no more 
to say. If you think them unfounded 
call to mind at random some of the 
names that have passed. Better still, 
think how few remain. 

Let us be unashamed and unapolo- 
getic of our past. And verily we shall 
be unafraid of our future. In other 
words let us continue to be as provin- 
cial as democracy will permit us to be; 
not provincial in the mob sense, but 
provincial in the individual sense. 

Cinema League 

the feminine half of Hollywood helps 
to fan the flame of foreign popularity. 

Some of the names concerned with 
the most recent productions look as 
though miniature Leagues of Nations 
are being formed. Take "The Hotel 
Imperial." Erich Pommer, the Ger- 
man, supervised it; Mauritz Stiller, 
the Swede, directed it; Alexis David- 
off, the Russian, was the military 
technical advisor, while Pola Negri 
was the star. 

This vogue for foreigners has even 
touched the private lives of some of 
our Americans. Gloria Swanson mar- 
ried the Marquis de la Falaise. Then 
Constance Talmadge married Captain 
Alastair Mackintosh and went to Lon- 
don on a honeymoon where she suc- 

[Continued from page 16) 

ceeded in luring the Prince of Wales to 
dinner party. 

a dmner party. And now we learn 
that Mae Murray has just married 
Count David Divani. 

Some of these international compli- 
cations have an ironical twist. Emil 
Jannings, star of "Variety," for whom 
every American director is bidding is 
an American. But he has that inde- 
finable foreign flavor, which means 
that he is placed on the heights of 
Hollywood's latest gilded pedestal. 

Where this craze will stop, or when, 
no one knows. But it is a certainty 
that to a nation grown used to the 
feeble stimulation of near beer, a bit 
of old world champagne will do no 

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The San Franciscan 



robbed his face of all its eagerness and 
put a look of distance in his eyes, that 
saw so far beyond, so high above her, 
yet failed utterly to focus on the de- 
tails of her person. His voice had no 
enthusiasm as he spoke. 

"Irene — I don't know how to tell 
you or just what to say — I can't dress 
the fact up in words — to make it 
easier — for you. jMaybe — you've seen 
it coming. It had to come — some 
day." He hurried on, hating to pro- 
long the pain he caused, hoping against 
knowledge that her love would wither 
with the blow of its rejection. 

"I'm engaged. Somehow I don't 
want to talk about it — here. I'v* 
come to tell you and say good-bye. It 
can't go on now — you must see that. 
It's not as if you can't find others." 

"The rent is paid until next month 
— Irene — don't look so! You'll forget 
by then." 

There was a pause, broken by the 
song of a bird, a happy song, telling of 
love, but the man didn't understand. 
He only heard the bubbling of coffee 
in the pot. 

"I'm sorry I can't stay for supper. 
I'm going — there. Why drag it out? 
It only makes it worse. Let's say 
good-bye — I'm late for dinner now." 

Then he kissed her, with regret, but 
no longing; with a tender fondness, but 
no passion, and turned to go. At the 
door he stopped. 

"Oh, I nearly forgot." He took out 
a key ring from his pocket, detached 
one and laid it on the stand. That was 
all. She heard a door slam, and he 
was gone. * * * 

A pungent odor of burned coffee 

crossed the room. The Angel had 

followed a smiling face and a happy 

heart, but he had found a tear. 
* * * 


IT was a well-appointed library; sim- 
ple in its luxury, showing a super- 
refinement in its taste. The fitful 
firelight lingered caressingly on a fine 
old Gobelin tapestr>,', flickered over 
the vellum bindings on the shelves and 
the rare Italian antiques. One recog- 
nized the choice of a collector, and 
realized the wealth beneath it all. 
Here surely happiness must dwell. 

A man sat tense by the hearth, at 
his elbow a litter of unread papers, 
ashes and countless dead and twisted 
cigarettes. A drained glass and half 
emptied bottle had failed to wipe the 
anxiety from his face, which the dim 
shaded lights revealed. 

Nervously he started up and re- 
sumed his pacing. Somewhere in the 
house a distant clock struck five. 


from page 14) 

Under the drawn curtains crept the 
gray fingers of dawn. From afar he 
heard the sounds of a world awakening, 
but it was to the room above his ears 
were strained. Now and then he 
heard a hurried step, an intermittent 
murmur of voices, a suppressed groan 
— and then a cry, faint at first, then 
stronger, ending in all the fury of a 
new-born babe's first protest to the 

The man sank down once again by 
the fire. A joy had relaxed the awful 
fear that clutched his heart. There 
was a haste of purpose in the footsteps 
now that crossed and recrossed over 
his head. He was held captive by his 
promise in the room — chained by his 
word not to enter where that bitter 
struggle had gone on in the \'alley of 
the Shadow of Death. 

It was quiet above, dreadfully quiet, 
with not even a whimper from the in- 
fant to reassure him. \\ hy didn't 
someone come? 

He waited through an endless etern- 
ity; aeons passed unrecorded by the 
clock. His muscles twitched, a per- 
spiration cold and clammy as the 
grave forced its way through every 
pore of his body. 

Finally a step, weary, slow and heav)-, 
overhead. A door closed and he heard 
the doctor coming down the stairs. 

There was no smile on the doctor's 
face, and something in his eyes that 
searched the very soul of the man be- 
fore him, something like a great pity. 
The doctor's words came slowly, fear- 
fully, as if dreading theirown utterance. 

"Lee, a father suflFers too in child- 
birth. You ought to know. You look 
as if you'd scoured hell tonight." 

He checked the interruption he saw 
trembling on the drawn lips. 

"You have a son — God! man, it's 
hard to hurt you so, but it will be 
harder for you to bear. Your child is 
blind. There's not a chance on earth 
he will see. Go read it somewhere in 
your books, "Unto the third and fourth 

The portieres dropped into place, 
swayed a moment, and were still, but 
the man wasn't alone. At his side an 
Angel stood — waiting — not in vain for 
a tear. 

TIP' through the cold infinity of 
space, borne on the freezing 
winds from the outer darkness the 
Angel sped, and begged for entrance 
at Heaven's Gate. In his eyes was 
knowledge, and in his hands«"three 
tears that he humbly laidjbefore the 
throne of God. 


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13 68 


The San Franciscan 

Black Songs 

{Conlinued from page 17) 

It belongs to the sons of Africa who 
are just beginning to learn that the 
sleeping ache of the centuries can be 
transmuted into Art. The negro of 
today who stands before you on the 
concert platform may be a naive, a 
simple person. With the exception of 
Roland Hayes, whose brain is keen 
and whose understanding of the text 
he is singing as great as that of any 
artist living, many negro artists are 
unaware of the thing they hold in their 
dusky hands. 

They own pain made tangible; the 
essence of all Art since the steep road 
to Golgotha bloomed with imperish- 
able beauty. They hold the valuable 
primitive quality which is rapidly 
passing from the earth. 

Music and sculpture are primitive: 
the negro should find himself in them. 
They hold the memory of the winding 
Kongo, the oneness with the lush black 
jungle earth that, in torrid darkness, 
yet is opulent with life. 

And theirs is a strange language to 
the white artist, reared in a world from 
which agony, primitive lusts, the 
primordial Sun's searing finger must, 
of a necessity, be gone. The black 
singer must be encouraged that we 
may preserve this fine flowering of the 
years in his race; this contribution to 
modernity which his white brother can 
never take from him. 

New York Correspondent 

{Continued front page 12) 
The melancholy autumn seems to 
encourage the growth and spreading 
of Ye Beautie Shoppes — there must 
be something in the sighing of the 
wind and the rattle of chains on the 
taxi wheels that reminds the dowager 
of her sagging neck muscles. Just off 
Park Avenue on Fiftieth Street, Fanny 
Ward, young as she was a quarter of 
a century ago, is opening an elaborate 
salon to be devoted to the art of per- 
petuating pulchritude. A desk that 
belonged to the late Czar of Russia, 
priceless tapestries and furnishings 
once possessed by J. Pierpont Morgan 
ought to distract the eye not satisfied 
with its own reflection in the great 
mirrors (before treatment, of course). 
There seems to be considerable in a 
name when it comes to the matter of 
hair-bobbing in New York. Once 
upon a time a striped pole had a strong 
and sufficient association in our minds 
with the variety and price of a trim. 
Now the pole has become a plebeian 
symbol. What is becoming of the far- 
famed Eastern reserve.^ Francesca. 

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Altogether our wide-awake neighbors 
on the Coast are spending well over 
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to which San Francisco is the natural 
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The San Franciscan 

Sixty Years of Sock and 

(Continued frym page 11) 

and the movie. The classic drama is 
as dead as smoked mackerel. 

What regisseur can revive it.? The 
last attempt at presenting sublime 
pageantry to an unwilling public was 
in Julia Arthur's stately "Joan of 
Arc," Shaw-done in the finest baroque 
tradition. It played to a corporal's 
guard, and the receipts in Calgary 
were three times as great as they were 
in San Francisco. 

Dramatically speaking, San Fran- 
cisco has seen better days. But, hang 
it all, so has every other city in the 
wide land. The phenomenon is uni- 
versal, for that matter. The change 
has come. We worship three gods in 
our new Cosmogony: Chaplin, Fair- 
banks, Pickford. The swell movie 
houses are our cathedrals. We don't 
know what it's all about, but we know 
all's going to end happily, because the 
Hollywood doors are firmly barred 
against the artist. 

There's still a ray of light. Stage 
acting, on the whole, is better than it 
was five years ago. Henry Duffy's 
stock houses purvey light and agree- 
able drama with technique and mise- 
en-scene that is surprisingly good. 
The sporadic production of plays here 
may augur much or nothing at all. 
And there's the Little Theatre. 

Something may happen yet, as a 
reward for good manners. The cat- 
calls and jeers of vulgar Cockney 
gallery-gods, the evil manners of the 
Parisian bourgeoisie, and the like, are 
happily unknown in our fair city. 
Live and let live. We are out for a 
good time, and deplore past days not 
at all. 

Nowhere is there vitality in drama, 
save in Germany. Of joy in the thea- 
tre, of sublime, brutal and awe-inspir- 
ing pageantry. Max Reinhardt, with 
his ingenious simplicity and genius 
alone, seems to possess the secret. He 
welds actors and audience into one. 
He will try it here in December with 
"The Miracle." 

Let him come. And bring with him 
Jannings, Veidt, Moissi, Camilla Eib- 
enschutz and Tilla Durieux, and Paul 
Wegener. We need them the worst 
way, and shall keep them — to support 
our pet little girl stars in Hollywood. 
It will help our life to be more amusing. 
And if so — what of it? 

BUSINESS judgment 


YOUNG Mrs. Wellford was talking about her hus- 
band's recent illness. 
"Bill was home for a whole week. It was his first real 
chance to see me in action as a housewife — we've been 
married only a year, you know. 

"The third day he said to me: 'Sally, you need an Ex- 
tension Telephone. You're wearing yourself out, run- 
ning up and down stairs and from room to room every 
time the telephone rings. 1 never realized before how 
much a woman will put up with without complaining. 
I wouldn't stand for it a minute in my office.' " (Well- 
ford's Inc. was a model office.) 
"And so.'" said her visitor. 
"There it is," said Sally proudly. 
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The San Franciscan 

French Furniture 

{Continued from page 23) 

ornate and brocaded creations of the 
Louis Quinze Period, to the classic 
simplicity of the Empire Period. 

To those who appreciate the beauty 
produced by a perfectly appointed 
room, it is of interest to know that the 
main part of the success is due to the 
grouping of the furniture desired. 
Whether the effect to be obtained is 
of weight or refreshing lightness, what 
type of furniture offers a greater field 
to choose from than that of the 
French, with its commodes, tables and 
desks of every description.'' These 
exquisite antique or carefully repro- 
duced creations, beautiful in 
quetry and carving, bronze-galleried 
and marble-topped in various colors, 
are a joy to the eye. 

It is the use of mirrors and crystals, 
porcelains, lamps and screens in a 
room, that reveals the character and 
personality of its owner, as lights and 
shadows reflect the glory of a painting. 
And from the markets of France come 
these delightful objects in the form of 
cut mirrors, half framed with paint- 
ings and prints of richly-colored land- 
scapes; tiny pairs of mirrors, with fes- 
tooned frames of gilded carving, re- 
flecting the dazzling brilliance of cut 
crystal on candelabra or sconce. A 
pair of magnificent urns to be placed 
on commode, console or mantel, as the 
choice may be; unique clocks of charm- 
ing workmanship, dainty figures of 
porcelain, and the low screens painted 
m the marque fashion, add life and 
color to many a dull group. Charm- 
ing lamps of metal, crystal and porce- 
lain, with shades of rufHed taffeta help 
to make any room a picture of infinite 
delight that is' not easily forgotten. 

A French room may revel in dainty 
ornament as feminine as it is fascinat- 
ing. But the inviting curves of a 
Canape, a deeply comfortable Begere, a 
lu.xurious Chaise Longue, invite a man 
to repose and ease, albeit swathed in 
a sense of beautiful calculation as in- 
sinuating as a du Barry. So few appre- 
ciate the true import of a room fur- 
nished in this manner, or realize that 
the various pieces representing the 
work and effort of many lives, have 
been brought to us over two thousand 
miles of land and sea. Nor did the 
lu.xury-loving favorites belonging to 
the brilliant courts of the Louies ever 
so much as dream that the commod- 
ities created for their comfort -and 
pleasure, were some day to be used by 
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Joseph Dyer, Editor and Publisher 

William A. Flanagan, Associate Editor R. B. Hinkley, Business Manager 

Anthony Page, Associate Editor C. D. Thornton, Asst. Business Manager 

Contributing Editors 

Charles Caldwell Dobie Mollie Merrick 

Idwal Jones Anita Day Hubbard 

George Douglas Marie H. Richards 

Ivan Alexander Rowena S. Mason 

Contents for December, 1926 

Vol. I 

No. 2 

H. R. H. Rnnhardt, By Oliver M. Sayler - - 7 
Personality and Comment ----- S 

That Man Mencken, By Goblind Behari Lai - - 10 
An Eastern Point of Fietv, By IVilliam Ahlefeld 

Flanagan ------- 12 

The Rhythm of the Ages, By David Joyce - -Ji 
Imported from San Francisco, By Ivan Alexander 14 
A Reviewer at Large. By Joseph Dyer - - -16 
Meanwhile in Manhattan, By Francesca - - 17 
Society --------- 19 

The Spanish Fiesta ------ 21 

7 Rue De La Paix, By Worth - - - -23 

The Amazon Invasion, By Nancy Barr Maviiy - 24 
One of Our Moderns, By Aline Kistler - - -25 
Sport, By Ned Reyd ------ 2« 

The Stock Market and the Outlook for 1927, By II. De 

La Chapelle ------- 2S 

The San Franciscan is published monthly by The San Franciscan Publishing Company, 511 Howard Street, 

Telephone Sutter 970, San Francisco, California. Subscription Price, one year 32.50. Single copies 25 cents. 

Copyrighted 1926 by the San Franciscan Publishing Co. 

The San Franciscan 




H. R. H. Reinhardt 

A Prince of the Theater as Lord of an Ancient Castle 


jEDITOR'S NOTE. Author of "The Russian 
Theater," "Russia White or Red," "Our Amer- 
ican Theater," and "Inside the Moscow Art 
Theater," and editor of "Majc Reinhardt and His 
Theater," The Moscow Art Theater Plays," etc., 
Mr. Sayler has founded a new profession on our 
stage, though it has long been known in Europe — 
that of Literary adviser. Through his association 
with Morris Gest, whose great spectacle, "The 
Miracle," is to be the hoUday event of San Fran- 
cisco, he has been largely responsible for the 
literary campaigns that have assured an informed 
and receptive audience for such visitors to our 
stage as The Moscow Art Theater and Its Mus- 
ical Studio, Balieff's Chauve-Souris, Eleonora 
Duse, and Max Reinhardt and "The Miracle" 
itself. His pen portrait of the Master of Leopold- 
skron is the first he has written since the publica- 
tion of his exhaustive work on Reinhardt.; 

AS a matter of fact, he has no 
royal title at all, this prince of 
the modern theater. To his 
associates in the Deutsches Theater, 
the Kammerspiele, and the Komoedie 
in Berlin and in the Theater in der 
Josephstadt in \'ienna, and to his 
fellow-townsmen in Salzburg, Max 
Reinhardt is simply the Herr Professor, 
an honorary title coveted among the 
Germanic peoples even more eagerly 
than that of Doctor. Still, with that 
title — w-hich, singularly enough, he is 
unable to use in this country without 
summoning ribald memories of magi- 
cians, medicine men, and dancing mas- 
ters — he has the advantage over his 
American confrere, Morris Gest. In 
America we do not subsidize or bestow 
titles on our artistic benefactors: we 
"crown" them, it is true, but with 
lewd laughter when they land in the 
bankruptcy court. 

But if Reinhardt, after a quarter of 
a century of tireless service in the art 
of the theater, is no prince of the 
blood nor even a modest Count but 
only a humble native of Pressburg and 
therefore, by virtue of the Treaty of 
St. Germain, the bearer of a Czecho- 
Slovakian passport, I know of no other 
son of our twentieth century, in realms 

political as well as esthetic, on whom 
sits so serenely the role of grand 
seigneur. Owner as well as tenant of 
the imposing baroque castle, Schloss 
Leopoldskron, in the outskirts of the 
capital of the Austrian Tyrol, he holds 
court there as if to the manor born. 

Fortunate the traveler who is bidden 
from his hotel in the town to a recep- 
tion, or a musicale, in the Marble Hail, 
or even to after-dinner coffee on the 
terrace, with roses and lavender at his 
feet, the lake beyond, the legendary 
mass of the Untersberg in the back- 
ground and the eternal snow of the 
Hohe Goell in the distance. For, like 
unto a royal levee, you are bidden, not 
invited. "The Herr Professor expects 
you at ten tonight." That is the form 
in which the summons comes. And 
you obey — that is, if you wish to meet 
and chat at this court of the arts with 
the patrons, practitioners and connois- 
seurs of the theater, architecture, 
painting, sculpture, letters and music 
from the farthest corners of Europe 
and of distant America. 

"TpHERE are two times in the year 
-^ when this luxurious structure, 
built two hundred years ago by the 
Prince .Xrchbishop Leopold Firmian 
as a wedding gift to his nephew and 
studded with treasures of art and of 
handicraft, holds out a lure to its 
owner. In between, while his restless 
creative energies are being lavished on 
theatrical productions in Berlin, \ i- 
enna, or America, he is content with 
an apartment at the Esplanade or in 
the Hofburg or in one of our less pre- 
tentious but distinguished hostelries. 
But in midsummer and in midwinter. 

the call of Leopoldskron is too strong 
to resist. 

There are two "seasons" in the 
Schloss, an open and a closed one. 
The open season, just before, during 
and after the annual Salzburg Festival 
of drama and music, extends from 
June or July into September. It is 
then that Prince Max holds open 
house in his salons. The other season 
is in the dead of the Tyrolean winter. 
No danger from inquisitive travelers. 
No fear of the winds that roar down 
from the Alpine caverns. For Rein- 
hardt doesn't believe in the incon- 
veniences of 1726. Without marring 
or sacrificing a whit of the exquisite 
beauty of the workmanship of by- 
gone craftsmen, he has made his 
Schloss livable with the material com- 
forts of 1926. And so, while the lake 
freezes and the snow drifts, he sits 
snug and warm in his study, confining 
to paper for future use the vagrant 
dreams of new productions which have 
come to him in the heat and confusion 
of work or the hither and yon of travel. 
From this closed season come the 
prompt books of the productions the 
public will see a year or ten years 

Let me take you through a typical 
day in the castle the summer "The 
Miracle" was being made. If you 
were fortunate enough to be a house 
guest in the Schloss itself or in the 
quaint old Meyerhof adjoining, you 
rose to a breakfast of eggs and butter 
and berries, produced on the estate and 
the only coffee on the continent of 
Europe worth drinking. Through the 
morning you either read or wrote or 
sketched under the trees or on the 

{Continued on page 31) 

The San Franciscan 

LADY Ravensdale, the daughter of 
Lord and Lady Curzon, has but 
recently returned from this coun- 
try to her home in London. The bril- 
liant young English woman is follow- 
ing the custom of Claire Sheridan and 
writing a book on Amer- 
ica — a sort of a close-up; 
holding the mirror up to 
Americans, as it were. 

During her visit to 
this country Lady Rav- 
ensdale spent the greater 
part of her time in Cali- 
fornia. She accompanied 
the James Swinnerton 
party into the South- 
west where she attended 
the annual Snake Dance 
of the Hop! Indians; also 
a Navajo En Tah (war 
ceremonial against evil 
thinking). Lady Ravens- 
dale, while in the desert 
country visited Ba Ta 
Kin, a prehistoric Indian 
village, situated one hun- 
dred and twenty miles 
from any railroad. The 
Swinnerton party reports 
that Lady Ravensdale is 
a thoroughbred, an ex- 
cellent rider and a most 
entertaining young wom- 
an. From her plunge 
into things American she 
showed a most direct 
way of going into things 
American. She is very 
apt to accomplish a good 
book. Certainly she has 
a sense of contrasts. 
From the Indian coun- 
try the titled English 
girl went direct to Los 
Angeles where she wit- 
nessed the funeral of 
the late Rudolph \ alentino. 

While in Southern California Lady 
Ravensdale made her headquarters 
with Mrs. William Randolph Hearst 
at her magnificent ranch, San Simeon, 
near San Luis Obispo. She spent 
quite some time in San Francisco and 
the peninsula, where she was the guest 
of Miss Helen Crocker at New Place 
for several days and was taken by Miss 
Crocker to her home at Pebble Beach. 

l^OR those who treasure memories of 
the Vienna of pre-war days, the 
\ ienna of the romance and the gilded 
social life, the patroness of the arts and 
the amphitheater of symphony and 
opera, there will be for them a discon- 

Lady Ravensdale 

certing disillusionment in the present- 
day city. Complete reversals in cus- 
toms have occurred. Where before 
music was for the ear, today it is for 
the feet, thus illustrating the triumph 
of Berlin over Brahms. American 
Nite Clubs flourish while seats at the 
Opera and the symphonies remain un- 
filled. The sports of the ci-devant 
noblesse are passe and the "manly art" 
supplants the art of the foil. Prize- 

fights are viewed by the decollete and 
dress-suited while the once-favored 
ponies canter down the race tracks 
unwatched The theater, exhibiting 
Arlenesque drama and French com- 
edies delight the sophisticated Vien- 
ese audiences who form- 
erly considered the stage 
the pastime of the prole- 
tariat. Social life has 
moved from the private 
ballroom to the cafe and 
cabaret. Glittering Sa- 
lons wherein diamonded 
women and gorgeously 
uniformed men trod the 
stately gavotte are van- 
ished. Nowadays one 
awaits a table at the 
popular Lido-Venice or 
Hotel Bristol, and an 
evening in which one 
achieves the "en casser- 
ole" effect by dancing 
feverishly in a ballroom 
a la -minute along with a 
hundred other feverish 
sardines. Mais helas. 
What would you have! 
C e s t la m a r c h e d e 


EW Year's Eve is by 
way of becoming ob- 
served in the breach. 
Winter sports at Truc- 
kee, house parties in the 
country, bridge at home 
for three or four tables 
— and the year is started 
without a headache or 
a thrill. 

Football Night is now 
the big event of revelers 
who want a Saturnalia, 
and whether the game 
be at Stanford or Berkeley, prelim- 
inaries and the jubilation are held in 
San Francisco, with the hotels crowded 
to the gunwales with old grads who, 
by the time the game is won or lost, 
don't know whether it was football 
or tiddlywinks. 

It looks as if New Year's Eve were to 
be a flop. The Prentis Cobb Hales 
started the flight to the Sierras to es- 
cape the banality of celebratingintown. 

The San Franciican 

TAMES G. Swinnerton, cartoonist 
and painter of note, announces 
that during the second week of Janu- 
ary he is giving a one-man exhibit 
of his paintings at the Ambassador 
Galleries in Los Angeles. Royal Cor- 
teizes, America's foremost art critic, 
said of Swinnerton's work recently in 
the New York Times that he without 
a doubt comes close to leading Ameri- 
can landscape painters, because of his 
virility, color, and technique. Swin- 
nerton is a San Franciscan born, re- 
ceiving his art training in this city. 

JOSEPH Mason Reeves, Jr., is an- 
other San Francisco artist who is 
offering a one-man show of his work. 
The exhibit is being held at 1001 
\ allejo Street and was opened the 
night George Douglas gave a splendid 
eulogy of the late George Sterling. 
With the admirers of Reeves, Sterling, 
and Douglas there was a smart out- 
pouring of society and Bohemians. 
Among the pictures shown by young 
Reeves was a charming oil of his wife, 
who was Miss Cornelia Sutton. A 
large canvas of James D. Phelan shows 
the former senator in a genial mood, 
and benign. .\ black and white sketch 
of Mrs. ^larie Hicks Healy, done last 
April, is a decided contrast in feeling 
to the oil painting which Reeves did 
of her the summer before. 

Reeves is the son of Captain Joseph 
Mason Reeves, U.S.N., head of naval 
aviation at San Diego. One of the 
best things young Reeves has done to 
date is a black and white of his dis- 
tinguished father at the wheel of the 
old Oregon, the battleship on which he 
was host during the Panama-Pacific 
Exposition as the old vessel lay off the 
Marina. Captain Reeves was on the 
Oregon when she left San Francisco 
on a history-making cruise around the 
Horn (before the Panama Canal) to 
Santiago, Cuba, in the Spanish War. 

Young Reeves is a nephew of Miss 
Susan Watkins, afterward Mrs. Golds- 
borough Serpel, one of the distin- 
guished artists of San Francisco of 
twenty years ago. She said of Reeves 
when he was a child: "There is the 
real genius of the Watkins family." 

'"pHE French Glorification of the 
American — Negro! Foila! Per- 
haps it was the novelty of their race 
that first attracted the fastidious 
French, and mayhap the natural dance 
rhythm and love of harmony that em- 
powers them to interpret so exotically 
the jazz that the French women are so 
fond of. Whatever it is, the American 
negro has found the niche that he has 
never found in Dixie. One speculates 
as to what Mistinguette and the in- 
comparable Dollies are doing to com- 

pete with "/a belle mats brun" Flor- 
ence Mills who nightly, from the stage 
at Les Ambassadeurs, shouts the affairs 
of her "two-timin papa" to an audi- 
ence of adoring Parisiennes. The Shep- 
herdess Follies where the beautiful 
Mata Hari once copiously displayed her 
charms, now resounds to the husky 
throatings of Josephine Baker, a "blues- 
shouter" from Birmingham, Ala., 
U. S. A. The chic Parisian of the 
female persuasion, grande dame and 
midinette, is to be observed promenad- 
ing the boulevards or sipping her 
aperitif whilst gazing soulfully into 
the depths of the large brown eyes of 
her negroid companion. Women of 
gentility, eager to learn the Charleston, 
introduce into their salons as instruc- 
tors, negro "professors," who thereto- 
fore had wooed Terpsichore on the 
sawdust-strewn decks of Harlem caba- 
rets. The little Missouri darky that 
shines the boots at the American Ex- 
press office in the Rue Scribe, at clos- 
ing time pockets his tips and donning 
his satin-lapeled frock coat and topper, 
looks forward to an evening's hospi- 
tality in circles where his entree is un- 
questioned and his presence sought. 

CO refreshing — this first peep into 
San Francisco. At last Democracy, 
realizing some aspects of good and 
pleasing form. Mild air and violets in 
December; at tea and parties debs 
who were their own sweet charming 
selves, making no silly attempt to 
move about in snobbish, gelt-auras; 
vendors who walked twenty feet to 
point the stranger a direction; people 
on the streets, in shops, free of harassed 
speed-mad expression; at the concert 
good music — Wagner, the Love and 
Death well played; a charming prom- 
enade in the long corridors during the 
intermission; but — could it be possi- 
ble! There they were! Each pillar 
and post in the foyer, screaming at 
the well dressed, well conducted and 
civilized audience: "Men's Rooms in 
Basement and Upstairs;" "Do Not 
Scratch Matches on Walls;" "Wom- 
en's Rooms Upstairs — in Front." Too 
cruel! Rows of it! Is the spirit of 
disillusion after all implacable? But 
for these naive legends I had seen the 
isolated triumph of democracy 
achieved without offence to good taste. 

G. F. 

* * * 

'TpHE day of the "out-at-elbow" 
•^ actor is over. No longer do 
weeklies still contain cartoons of a 
character which wears a long black 
coat, a large hat, and the back of his 
head merges, with its long hair, into 
the frayed and moth-eaten fur collar 
of his coat. 

Today John Barrymore is the proud 
possessor of a yacht; Ruth Chatterton, 
of her recent success, "The Green 
Hat," owns a valuable farm at White 
Plains; Billie Burke has a splendid 
estate at Hastings-on-Hudson; Ernest 
Truex owns an estate at Great Neck; 
Margaret Anglin has a farm at Mount 
Kisco; and Lenore L'lric owns a house 
at West Seventy-fourth Street. A 
great many other prominent players 
are in the millionaire class. May 
Irwin is rated the wealthiest actress 
in America. She owns an island, a 
3150,000 house and some valuable 
cattle. Lo! The "poor" actor has dis- 


|LTITE one of the most interesting 
exhibits of this season is that of 
Stanley Wood's watercolors, now at 
the \'ickery Atkins & Torrey rooms. 
Wood has been working in and about 
Carmel for some time and many of 
his best pictures deal with scenes 
familiar to the San Franciscan and 
habitue of points south. This is the 
third time Wood has exhibited here 
and it is gratifying to know that his 
adopted home is giving him recogni- 
tion similar to that received in New 
York and Chicago. 

The recent exhibition of Diego 
Rivera's drawings at the Beaux Arts 
Galleries created quite a stir in local 
art circles. The name of Rivera had 
been bandied about from mouth to 
mouth in studio conversations until 
it has become quite the vogue to stand 
breathless before a line done in the 
"primitive" manner of this "modern 
master" of the Americas. 

That Rivera is an artist of parts is 
no question but just how long his 
attitude of the sophisticate speaking 
in terms of the primitive will find 
favor is another thing. However, as 
long as men such as Ralph Stackpole, 
and women such as Helen Forbes, 
make journeys to his shrine in Mexico, 
as long as art patrons such as Albert 
Bender will put the stamp of approval 
on his work by extensive purchases, 
so long will San Francisco strive to 
look through Rivera's eyes at the 
beauty in the primitive. 

■pROM New York conies good news 
of the exhibit of Blanch Collet 
Wagner's paintings. Twenty of her 
canvases are now hung at the Ainslie 

Enid Foster has been doing some 
brightly toned plaster portraits. Some 
of her satiric groups and a more serious 
portrait group of the three small 
daughters of Dr. Howard Naffzinger 
attracted attention at the Hillcrest 
Club exhibition. 

The San Franciscan 


That Man Mencken 

In Praise of The Enfant Terrible of American Literature 


"^T^HE demon critic," as the Nezv 
I York Times teasingly called 
him, did no slaughtering here. 
On the contrary, he has given to San 
Francisco the most intelligent and 
whole-hearted commendation. He 
wasn't quite so benevolent to all 
California. He bombarded Los An- 
geles with a roaring gusto. 

There is a great gusto about Menc- 
ken. It is apparent even in his phys- 
ical presence. He says he is a "Gothic 
beauty." That does not mean that 
there is any superfluity of tissue about 
him. He is solidly built, and in excel- 
lent design, a prize-fighter's bearing. 
Amplitude of his structure suggests 
abounding vitality. The rear part of 
the head seems specially large, and 
may have something to do with the 
musical gift of Mencken and other 
intellectual traits of high voltage. 

It seems that his writing is like his 
conversation, and his conversation is 
best understood with reference to his 
personality. Like the gust of a great 
wind. He may well be likened to the 
wind, in the sense that Remain Hol- 
land speaks of Jean Christopher — as a 
purifying wind that blew through stale 
autumn woods, shaking down the 
dead leaves and boughs, putting a new 
movement in the forest. 
* * * 

"T HOPE my talk has stirred the ani- 
■'■ mals," he writes to me, referring 
to an interview I had with him. It 
did. Now Mencken, having shocked 
and stirred people with his prelude, 
will proceed to hammer down his logic 
in detail. Most of us enjoy a shock, 
after it's over. But we do not like to 
think of it with pleasure, in anticipa- 

If you think of it coolly, Mencken's 
performance is amazing. The very 
heterodoxy of his attitudes in most 
matters would have ruined him, if he 
were a less powerful mind. But he 
clothes his iconoclastic and rebellious 
sentiments in combative words. How 
the double explosive keeps going is a 
. puzzle. It is his brilliant intellect that 
saves him, because even those whom 
he attacks respect his ability. Why 
does he not use purring words, sooth- 
ing, kind words? Why does he not 
speak like an abstract philosopher.'' 
Why does he not sugar-coat his hetro- 
doxy, so that everybody may like the 
laste of what he says.' It's in his 
blood. Prince Bismarck was one of 

Mencken's direct ancestors. The high- 
est voltage of Teutonic ability, in the 
realms of statesmanship, war, and 
scholarship, Mencken has inherited 
without dilution. The Mencken in- 
tellect and style, in a sense, are rooted 
in history. One of his ancestors was a 
Fellow of the Royal Society of Great 
Britain, because of his distinguished 
services as a scientist. Another of his 
forbears, equally brilliant and famous 
all over Europe, published a magazine 
two centuries ago. That magazine, 
published for the intellectuals of the 
day, was the forerunner of The Amer- 
ican Mercury. It was devoted to the 
advancement of scientific thought and 
to the smashing down of superstitions, 
charlatanism of every description, in- 
cluding the sterile scholarships of old- 
fashioned priests and professors, whose 
mind was clogged with Latin words 
and had no originality or courage of 

its own. 

* * * 

npODAY the average professor in the 
American colleges is Mencken's 
target. Why.' Because so many of 
them block the way. Their learning is 
but a cloak of stupid orthodoxy. They 
may be right or wrong in any particu- 
lar point, but their general influence is 
against innovation, against creative 
work, new enunciations of morality, 
art or science. It is against this dead- 
ening effect that JVIencken levels his 
mighty guns. And his guns are heavy! 
.'\ master of the subject he tackles; 
he has enormous ammunition of fact 
and argument. His opponents have 
a hard time in counter-bombardment. 
Mere abuse is not effective. It must 
come from a sincere source to be 
shattering. . Mencken's sincerity is 
his strength. It makes amends for 
his bluntness at the point of his missiles. 
In this age, the sincere man is a tower 
of strength even in his isolation. The 
entire superstitious herd in opposition 
can't prevail against him. 

Mencken assails all forms of hokum. 
He condemns fakers who try to make 
science itself an instrument of super- 
stition. He scorns police theory of 
government. He regards the bureau- 
crats who capitalize upon the patriotic 
feeling of" the masses, as scoundrels. 
Politicians, getting-rich-quick fakers, 
evangelists, dull college professors, and 
real estate operators — all are impor- 
tant persons. Indeed they are the 
gods of the age. And it is against 

these high divinities that Mencken 
points his heavy cannon. Tin gods to 
be demolished. New enemies to be 


* * * 

IV/f ENCKEN regards Plato as one of 
the greatest minds of all times. 
But, Mencken has no Utopia — no ideal 
state. If you begin to see that the 
present machinery of politics, educa- 
tion, religion is fundamentally inade- 
quate for higher civilization — you may 
be gradually enlightened, and turn to 
art, science, philosophy, which bring 
real improvement for humanity. 

Mencken has the quality of a Leon- 
ardo Vinci — in the sense that he is a 
philosopher with a distinct executive 
and experimental bent of mind. He 
does things himself — many things. He 
plays musical instruments. He thinks 
that of all the arts, music is the most 
worthy. He speaks of Beethoven with 
utmost respect. In all sciences, he is 
keenly interested. Specially the sci- 
ences that have a bearing upon the 
efliciency of the human organism — 
physically and psychologically. This 
implies the economic sciences, biology, 
including all aspects of physiology and 

But don't think of Mencken as a 
man heavily laden with the burden of 
learning. Books are his tools, not his 
master. He is always in excellent 
humor. His laughter is his greatest 
weapon. Erasmus laughed at the 
church, and Voltaire laughed at many 
things. Bernard Shaw has laughed. 
And so Mencken laughs. The wind 
that blows to purge the woods of dead 
leaves and boughs. 

* * * 

A CLOSE-UP view, now. Laughter 
■'*- again. \Miat charm goes with it, 

He is extremely considerate. I saw 
him devote three hours or more, dur- 
ing his short, hectic and crowded 
sojourn here last month, to a rather 
elderly woman, who had come to have 
"tea" with him. From 3 p. m. to 
6 p. m. this noble dame kept him busy 
buttering her toasts. And when, at 
my invading the room, she at last took 
leave, Mencken walked down with her 
to the hotel door. Patient, courteous, 
brimful of good humor. 

In all his tastes, he shows both the 
craving of the artist and the caution 
of the physiologist. Sometimes, his 
(Continued on page 31) 

The San Franciscan 

A Vieiv of the Auditorium and Ceiling of the Grosses txhauspielhaus, Berlin 

The San Franciscan 

An Eastern Point of View 

A Dialogue on the Mythology of Modern Drama 


SCENE: A young man, apparently a 
stranger, and a popular local debu- 
tante, take a table in the St. Fran- 
cis for luncheon. As soon as they have 
ordered, the young lady must talk. She 
smiles at the young man, whose thin 
bodv indicates he might be a critic. 

Young Lady: What do you think of 
our plays out here on the West Coast ? 

Critic: Well, on the whole, they're 
greatly over-rated by your dramatic 
critics. I found to my surprise that 
every show, even of the 10-20-30 va- 
rietv, gets favorable notice. A fellow- 
might as well not read the papers at all, 
except to see where the play is. 

Young Lady: Oh! you old crank! I 
believe you grow worse with age. I 
think we have splendid critics. 

Critic: I don't doubt it in the least. 
But they don't write criticisms. Most 
of them take up their space with 
flowery words about the beauty of the 
leading lady, or the moral of the play, 
or the bigness of the theme, or a de- 
scription of the story, or something 
else that has but little to do with the 
merits of the play. 

Young L.^dy: I have heard that 
Eastern critics are the same way. 

Critic: To some extent. But it's a 
disappointment to an Easterner to 
come out where men are supposed to 
be men, and where a good fight is sup- 
posed to be fun — and instead find them 
hand-shaking worse than Easterners. 

Young L.-\dy: Now you are joking; 
but I'm serious. I'm really interested 
in art you know. Tell me what you 
think about the drama. 

Critic (pleased): To begin with, 
there is a tendency out here to build 
myths about certain established 
players and writers. And the worst 
of it is, that the myths seem only to be 
bloomed from popularity. Whenever 
an esteemed player or play comes to 
the Coast, the critics begin to read 
poetry so they can write honeyed en- 
comiums. Under no conditions would 
they find a fault in the work of Pauline 
Frederick, or Bessie Barriscale; still 
less in the work of Jean Eagles or 
George Arliss; they would point to no 
flaw in the plays of Maugham, or 
Davis, or Coward, or Miss Loos; and 
still less would they insinuate a wrong 
in the plays of Shaw, or of O'Neil, or of 
Galsworthy. Knowing beforehand 
that these names have been hallowed 
(at least in certain newspapers), they 

go to the play with their minds already 
made up. And if a play happens to 
be so bad that they feel ashamed to 
praise it, they leave it alone altogether, 
in the way of comment; not seeming to 
realize that to leave a play alone is 
also a definite response. 

Young Lady: Don't you think the 
movies have had much to do with it.' 
They are all afraid to criticise Mary 
Pickford or Cecil De Mille unless their 
fingers are crossed. 

Critic: Yes, it might have been the 
original cause, but it's no excuse. 

Young Lady: You spoke of George 
Arliss and Galsworthv; didn't you like 
"Old English".' 

Critic: I had no fault to find with 
Mr. Arliss; indeed he always makes a 
play worth seeing. He is a splendid 
character actor. But as to Gals- 
worthy's play — well, it was indeed old 

Young Lady: You mean the play is 
over-rated? Oh! it was delightful! 

Critic: It was really that; but it was 
flabby — mediocre; it lacked the vitality 
of real contact. 

Young Lady: Surely all the char- 
acterization was well written .' 

Critic: Do you think girls in 1905 
A. D. were so much more childish than 
now.' and English boys so terribly 

Young Lady: You mean — ? 

Critic: Yes; does it really seem na- 
tural to you for a girl seventeen years 
old, to clap her hands in glee like a 
small child, when she sees a young man 
put on a smashed hat? That is what 
Phyllis did to Bob, and Galsworthy 
listed her at seventeen. And Jock was 
said to be fourteen, to have been a 
student of Eton (where discipline is 
important) and to have been dread- 
fully frightened of "Old English"; yet 
he played the childish, undisciplined 
pranks of an American Peck's Bad 
Boy; and he even played his tricks in 
the office of the man he feared so much. 
Quite natural? And then the maid — 
what low comedy Galsworthy got 
away with there! But then the best 
of them do it; sometimes I think most 
artists prefer out-and-out curbstone 

Young Lady: But what of the 

Critic: Why, the way she answered 
the door and said, yes, her mistress 
was in, but invisible. And later on 
when she was asked if her mistress was 

in, she said: "I can't say; it depends 
on who you are." What else is all 
this but the very old, low comedy gag, 
where the maid says to the caller: 
"She says she is not at home"? The 
same humor you have seen on Main 
Street for the past twenty-five years. 
And the chief character: he is repre- 
sented to be a man of great and in- 
domitable strength; he gets his name 
"Old English" because of it. The only 
folks Galsworthy compares him with 
in the play are: an old weakling, a fel- 
low admitted never to have had any 
sand; a flighty, ridiculous relative; a 
"scfty" young man; and a too holy, 
fanatical daughter. Is it any proof of 
strength to tower over such persons? 
-As to his encounters with the lawyer 
he showed only obstinacy, never par- 
ticular strength; he was actually bested 
and only saved himself from open de- 
feat by death. It was in fact, such a 
feeble development of real strength 
that Galsworthy found it necessary to 
bolster it up by having him talk of his 
wild youth, and by giving him a strong 
constitution; a thing which he weakly 
showed by having him consume an 
alarming quantity of liquor. But that 
shouldn't fool you folks around here — 
a Stanford man will be able to do it at 
ninety. Besides it is utterly banal; 
strength of constitution is no proof 
whatever of strength of character; if it 
were, Shakespeare and Stevenson would 
have been lesser men than are Tunney 
and "Ace" Hudkins. All this, the use 
of well tried comedy, the comparison 
with weaklings to make the hero stand 
out, and talking of devilish deeds — it 
is the most elemental of dramatic 
trickery; and it is used (cleverly) like 
a sprinkling of fine odors, to cover up 
the musty smell of a barren room. 

Young Lady: You take my breath 
away — I believe you're a Bolshevist; 
are you ? 

Critic: No; only Irish. 

Young Lady: Well, that's just as 
bad. But why a barren room? 

Critic: Because the play was bar- 
ren of life; it was only the dance of 
quaint and exquisite shadows, through 
a cultured existence. 

Young Lady: Of course it was only 
a pretty, simple little story; but isn't 
that enough? 

Critic: Quite; and the subject-mat- 
ter is of secondary importance; how- 
ever, it was no simple little story at 
{Continued on page 34) 

The San Franciscan 

Ruth St. Denis Dancing in the Taj Mahal 

"The Rhythm of the Ages" 

Ruth St. Denis — The White Flame of the Dance 


RUTH ST. DENIS is the most 
patrician of all mimes, the aris- 
tocrat of dancers. Witness her 
visualization of a Brahm's waltz or the 
"Libestraum" of Franz Liszt and you 
will readily understand my meaning. 
Clad in silvery white with her plati- 
num locks coiffed inimitably she is a 
marquise of movement. Study her 
again in the "Cuardo Flamenco" and 
you see the elemental earthy seduc- 
tress whose every sensuous gesture is 
an abstract story. Then the humor- 
ous coquette who never fails to draw 
a smile with her clever pantomime. 
The "Dance of the Black and Gold 
Sari" reveals St. Denis at her exquisite 

best. The tiny motion of her tapered 
fingers, the flicker of an eyelash, tell 
in this most subtle and terpsichorean 

"Traveling West from California 
Shores" may well be called "Dancing 
in the Orient" — for it includes the 
dance moods of China, Crete, India, 
Siam, Java and Egypt. Who can be 
found to more skilfully interpret the 
voluptuous langour of the East or por- 
tray the ruthless barbarity that hides 
beneath the mask than Ruth St. 
Denis with her traits and spirit. 

Ruth St. Denis has mastered the 
classic technique of the dance with all 
its exactions and felicities. But then 

perfection in technique is not the 
heights of artistic achievement in the 
art of the dance any more than it is 
in music or painting. The art of St. 
Denis is the composition of brilliant 
technique, a sense of beautiful motion, 
an exotic imagination, a spiritualized 
interpretation — all inspired by verse 
and music. 

This High Priestess of the Dance 
has created a new means of visualiza- 
tion that, the art of expression has 
hitherto little known. She has en- 
riched the theater with a divertisse- 
ment that has developed into a rarefied 
and original art. 

The San Franciscan 

Imported from San Francisco 

Intimate Portraits of Native Sons Adopted by Father Knickerbocker 

No. 1. Augustin Duncan 


(EDITOR'S NOTE. This is the first of a series 
of interviews with San Franciscans now living in 
New York who have attained fame and recogni- 
tion in the world of music, art, literature and 
drama. The author, Ivan Alexander, a San 
Franciscan, has been hailed by New York critics 
as one of the most brilhant young journalists of 
the day.) 

IT was one of those wintry, foggy 
afternoons so reminiscent of San 
Francisco, with the street lights 
all on early, and the slippery pavement 
making life more than ever a gamble 
among the skidding taxis. All the 
way out to the corner of 70th Street 
and Central Park West, I kept one 
hand on the door and my mind firmly 
on the biography of Augustin Duncan. 
"Native San Franciscan," I rehearsed, 
as we missed the excavations at Co- 
lumbus Circle; "Isadora's brother!" I 
shrieked in warning to a pedestrian 
about to leap under the left rear wheel; 
and then I closed my eyes, settled 
back, and focused on his distinguished 
career as Broadway actor and director. 
It is productive of a pleased, Cali- 
fornia reaction, to reflect that this 
career, entwined with those of Charles 
Kent, Blanche Bates, Richard Mans- 
field, David \\'arfield, and others, em- 
bracing countless roles of first magni- 
tude — more recent star parts being in 
the Theater Guild's highly successful 
"Merchants of Glory," the Captain 
in "Juno and the Paycock," both of 
the past season, and the leading role 
in Pirandello's "Naked," now running 
at the Princess — all this had its be- 
ginning in the Old Columbia Stock 
Company, better known in "the old 
days" as the S. R. Stockwell Co. In 
high spirits, and promptly at the hour 
appointed, I presented myself before 
the doorman of the Duncan apart- 
ment, and was admitted to its inner 


* * * 

T PRESENTLY found myself in the 
care of two lean, blond children — 
Angus and Andrea, who solemnly 
ushered me into a long room over- 
looking the Park, and invited me to 
play Parchesi while I awaited the de- 
layed celebrity. "The board is slightly 
imperfect," said .^ngus; "I made it 
myself," and he moved a pair of lowK- 
underwaist buttons a few spaces in 
advance of his sister's markers. I had 
taken out my pencil, in the sneaking 
hope of a little contraband informa- 
tion, but I put it away — that Parchesi 
game was far too important an affair 

for me to interrupt. "Aunt Minna" 
did that — Aunt Minna Smith, whose 
sister Gertrude wrote all those fascin- 
ating "Araminta and Arabella" stories 
for children, and who has a story of her 
own, "The Rose of Monterey" (more 
California!), about to be filmed by the 
First National Pictures. She swooped 
in out of the fog, a nice, plump, gray 
little figure, kissed the children, intro- 

Jiigustin Duncan 

duced herself to me, covered her own 
review in neat fashion, and had just 
worked up to promised revelations 
concerning the Duncans, both Augus- 
tin and his celebrated-for-herself wife, 
when the door opened, and in they 
walked. It was pat and dramatic as 
the end of a first act, but of course I 
missed out on the low-down. 

"I'm from San Francisco," I mur- 
mured, hunting feverishly for my 
questionnaire. From that moment 
the interview was all in his hands. 
Tea was served by a tall, gracious 
young woman whom he took away 
from Boston and married — others came 
and went about the room — crockery 
crashed in the distant kitchen — Andrea 
besought permission to visit the movies 
— and Augustin Duncan talked about 
San Francisco. 

For one fleeting moment I glanced 
at my list of interrogations suitable 
for actors. "Now take the moving 
picture industry . . . " I began. 

"r~\H, yes, the movies," he caught 
me up. "Speaking of the 'Cov- 
ered Wagon,' for example, did you 
ever think how all our forefathers out 
there in San Francisco toiled across 
the plains in the early days, under- 
going privations and hardships — strug- 
gling, struggling, to get there and make 
homes for us.^ And then we come 
along and get the first Pullman ticket 
we can la^' our hands on for New 

He sighed, and I hastened in with a 
query. "In what part of San Fran- 
cisco were you born.^" I asked. 

He turned pale, and a furtive ex- 
pression came into his eyes. "I have 
tried for years to live that down," he 
whispered, hoarsely. "Must that go 
in your interview.'" I nodded grimly. 
"On the corner of Jones and Gear}' — 
you see, quite, oh, quite the wrong 
side of Market Street for memoir 
purposes ..." 

"And your first theatric appear- 
ance — " I prompted, to cover the 
embarrassing moment. 

He brightened, but not for long. 
"Charles Kent was playing 'Damon 
and Pythias' in the Old Columbia," 
he said. "And I was the third senator 
— or maybe it was the fourth. .\t an}- 
rate, there were about ten of us, and 
mine was the only senatorial line — 'I 
do approve it,' were the words allotted 
me. When my cue came, so engrossed 
was I in the superb acting of Kent, 
that I failed to pick it up. The im- 
mortal words were not lost from the 
piece, however. Nine other senators, 
covetous of laurels, supplied them." 

"What were your feelings when you 

left San Francisco.'" seemed a bright 

question, so I asked it. 
* * * 

"VXT'ELL, in those days," said 
Mr. Duncan, "I knew that all 
opinions theatric, carrying any 
weight, of course, emanated from 
the town by the Golden Gate. I re- 
member this idea got its first jolt in 
Chicago. I found the people of Chicago 
felt that same way about their city. 
Then I came on to New York, and be- 
gan following in the footsteps of 
Booth. I had read that he underwent 
great privations; so I just looked 
around for punishment. Someone had 
told me that he even pasted his own 
handbills up in Honolulu, and it wasn't 
{Continued on page 30) 

The San Franciscan 


Greta Nissen cast for thejead in the film version of 
Theodore'Dreisers" Novel. 

The San Franciscan 

A Reviewer at Large 

Notes and Comment on Music and the Drama 


'TTAHERE is no good modern 
I music" cry the critics of the 
earth. They are not inten- 
tionally pessimistic; they are eagerly 
listening for a strain of glory in con- 
temporary music, which is compar- 
able to the thing which the old masters 
have given. And, with very few ex- 
ceptions, they have listened in vain. 

But the rule of modern mediocrity 
is broken by Respighi's "Pines 
of Rome" which Alfred Hertz 
and the San Francisco Symphony 
Orchestra have given three times 
already this season. If popular 
response is a keynote to future 
demand, we have not yet heard 
the last of the Respighi this year. 

The conductor of a Symphony 
Orchestra is placed in the diffi- 
cult position of trying to please 
opposing factions — the modern- 
ists who would have only con- 
temporary composers on the pro- 
grams, and the lovers of the 
purely classical theme, who would 
not allow any work to be played 
whose composer had not been 
dust twenty to fifty years. 

Alfred Hertz, catholic in his 
love for all fine music regardless 
of nationality, period, or type, 
has artfully framed his programs 
so as to give something to each 
one of his auditors. In the 
"Pines of Rome" he has shown 
them the modern theme at its 

Last year, during the San 
Mateo Philharmonic concerts, 
Nicolai Sokoloif gave us the 
"Fountains of Rome" by the same 
composer. Here was modern music 
that yet conformed to some of the old 
ideas and ideals. It had form, it had 
a melodic line, it had a good sound 
foundation and its phraseology per- 
mitted of lovely orchestral effects. 
Yet it was not great. The composer, 
feeling his way, struck the core of 
inspiration in the four groups of pines 
of the immortal city which he has 
programed in his splendid work. 

We are cleverly translated from the 
"Pines of the Villa Borghese" where 
children are at play, to the "Pines 
Near a Catacomb," informed with the 
vast empurpled music of church ritual. 
A nightingale song creeps through the 
"Pines of the Janiculum." But in the 
"Pines of the Appian Way" there is a 
glorious pageant of Roman conquerors 

programed that for sheer atmosphere 
and splendor of composition is un- 
rivaled in modern music. 

Barbaric, stirring, flashing with gold 
and copper and silver, clash of battle 
ax on shield, arrogance of Imperial 
purple, black bodies of slaves — themes 
of conqueror and conquered. Caesar 
with his royal purple blown by the 
Roman breeze, his face stained the 


scarlet of victory. The Respighi com- 
position is Edgar Saltus put to music; 
it has power and glory and imagination. 
San Francisco has never heard a more 
magnificent reading of a - modern 
theme. "Pines of Rome" of Ottorino 
Respighi has been the esthetic triumph 

of the 1926-7 season. 

* * * 

lUrENRY Cowell, young, earnest, 
•'■ -*■ yet wholly able to take emo- 
tional and intellectual charge of his 
hearers, played before the San Fran- 
cisco Musical Society on December 
2nd, at the Fairmont. The rainy day 
and the large crowd and the enthusi- 
asm taken together, were ample evi- 
dence that the startling composer- 
pianist has "arrived" in San Fran- 
cisco. Of course he had arrived long 
ago in Europe, and in New York — and 

in Los Angeles — but San Francisco is 
especially reticent in praise of her own 
children, as a good mother should be. . 
Felicitations on the discovery of a ' 
method are due Cowell. His tone 
clusters, produced on the keyboard of 
the pianoforte with the side of the 
hand, the forearm and the fist, extend 
the scope of the instrument, and offer 
some interesting new possibilities to 
composition. Other composers 
have experimented with new 
methods of piano technique in 
their work, but it remains for the 
young Californian to demon- 
strate completely the quality of 
sound to be produced on the 
concert grand by the deliberate 
application to the keyboard of 
muscles other than those of the 
finger tips, and by the applica- 
tions of the fingers to the wires 

But it is Cowell himself who 
advises his hearers to listen to 
the music rather than to watch 
the production of it. And cer- 
tainly he achieves a deep breadth 
of sound that gives more a feel- 
ing of a full orchestra than of one 
piano. He regards his technique 
of less consequence than the 
scope it gives him in tone pro- 
duction. Unlike some of the 
moderns he does not scorn the 
ancient classicists. He believes 
that modern music is a continua- 
tion of the older forms, and not 
a destruction of them. 

To quote Paul Rosenfelt in 
The Dial, in referring to a con- 
cert of Cowell's in New York last 
j^ear, which roused a storm of contro- 
versy among the critics: 

"The people who called for strait 
jackets had better be calling for ears — - 
for themselves." 

npHE Gilbert Miller production of 
, , Bourdet's play "La Prisonnere," 
which he has produced in this country 
under the title of "The Captive," con- 
tinues to be the most talked of play 
this month. The theme is one having 
to do with sexual psychology, and in 
the eyes of the strictly proper it is 
said to be one of the most dangerous 
ever on the American stage. But 
Bourdet has developed the entire 
thing only by clever suggestion, and 

{Continued on page 30) 

The San Franciscan 

Meanwhile in Manhattan 

THE ermine and the red flannels, 
respectively, emerge from cold 
storage, and the golosh flappeth 
untidily upon the Avenue; while that 
Parisian "something" represented by 
the vendors of roasted chestnuts takes 
the place of that Ita ian "something" 
recognized in the organ-grinders. Once 
more the commuter who pays his 
nickel to walk half-way from Times 
Square to the Grand Central, hunting 
among the green and black lines for 
the shuttle train, has begun to remark 
cheerily that it is at least warm under- 
ground — and so much for the weather. 
+ * * 

TN spite of competition set up by the 
cold waves and tidal waves — and 
especially since the rains are setting 
in, the Nestle Circuline Waves — the 
crime wave holds its own bravely. 
Marksmanship among the gunmen, 
though a little wild and ragged earlier, 
is speedily improving, and last week's 
total of policemen shot in the city of 
New York showed an encouraging in- 
crease over previous records. The 
Mayor has stopped worrying about 
the ominously low-tide in the munici- 
pal reservoir, and the slogan, "When 
you drink water, thousands go un- 
washed," has been replaced by ap- 
peals for better police conservation. 
Last week's casualties even included 
a traffic officer — a grave situation in a 
town like this where practically every- 
body will want to go hear "Peaches" 
Browning's divorce suit. 

A S a crime deterrent, the Yule-tide 
■^ benevolent campaign should func- 
tion. Almost any sane, reflective high- 
wayman should abandon pistols, ma- 
chine guns, and airplanes (the latest 
Eastern devices) when he observes the 
humane methods of the Charity Ball 
Committee and the debutante tag- 
seller. All one needs this month is a 
Cause. The unwary out-of-towner 
should be careful about attending 
anything labeled a concert. Most of 
them are partisan affairs these days, 
and something is invariably raffled 
off — something nobody wants, any- 
way. Although they still tell up at 
the McAlpin Roof Garden about what 
happened last year. After the congre- 
gation had sung "The Wearin' o' the 
Green," the cha;rman and his coterie 
of helpers accepted the wallets of all 
those present in exchange for a chance 
or two on the day's lottery. It was a 
dramatic moment when he explained 
the winning number would entitle the 

holder to a trip to Rome and an inter- 
view with the Pope — but the high 
point in the afternoon's entertainment 
was reached when the charming actress 
doing her bit for charity, daintily drew 
forth the fatal slip and faultlessly 
elocuted the name of Isidor Lechinski. 
However, this sort of thing happens 
seldom. One usually sits through a 
long program, buys four chances for a 
dollar — and later, when business falls 
off, seven, wins nothing, and comes 
home. By December 2Sth, the Christ- 
mas spirit of giving has become a 

* * * 

npHOUGHTS about Christmas and 
New Years seem to lead naturally 
to the matter of holiday eating. In 
New York every effort is being made, 
of late, to discourage the preparation 
of home meals. Hundreds of the 
newer and costlier apartment hotels 
like the Ritz Tower have been stigma- 
tized as "tenements," merely because 
an occasional steak is delivered up the 
backway de luxe. This ruling seems a 
bit hard on the wealthy, but we are cer- 
tain the sensitive nature of the door- 
man really suffers the most. Of 
course, after one coaxes the steak into 
the kitchen, the rest is being rapidly 
simplified — or at least made scientific. 
Ye Employment Shoppe has sprung 
up in Manhattan. Thither goes the 
housewife in search of a "girl." Her 
first hauteur is subdued by the ques- 
tionnaire filed in the outer office, on 
which she confesses to the number of 
courses served in her menage, the ex- 
tent and domestic habits of her family, 
and the type of sink-strainer with 
which the prospective assistant will 
have to cope. Later, she pays eight 
dollars for answering these queries — 
her problem, she learns, has been 
analyzed by experts. She is then 
looked over by the candidate, but sel- 
dom chosen, and much stress is put 
upon her attitude toward her help. 
One cowed matron did find an oppor- 
tunity to murmur during this process 
that she was looking for a cook, not a 
friend, but she was put in her place 

without delay. 

* * * 

tJUT then, why eat at home in New 
York.' The purveyors to the appe- 
tite have prepared a menu for every 
mood. If one wants to be esthetically 
Italian and sit in the shadow (electri- 
cally lighted) of the Ponte V'ecchio, 
where the interior decorator has given 
a pleasant version of Florentine laun- 
dry drying on the walls, the Alice 

Foote-McDougal restaurants satisfy. 
The food is one hundred percent Amer- 
ican and the coffee a shade over that. 
If a cosmopolitan urge governs, it 
need only be given a nationality. 
Down on the edge of the Village, the 
Lafayette Hotel still serves a real 
French dinner, where the waiters per- 
mit one to try out the foreign accent 
with no extra charge. Henry's, nearer 
the theaters, is not only Swedish but 
the hors d'oeuvres are a square meal. 
The Bohemian, in two editions, on 
forty-third and fifty-seventh, carries 
its Czecho-Slovakian atmosphere no 
further than the costumes of the 
waitresses and the peasant-wear on 
display. The Russian Bear permits 
one to sip "bortsch" to the rhythm of 
the \'olga Boat Song and gaze about 
at women who mostly part their hair 
in the middle. The tea shop is found 
practically always in a basement, and 
its name is legion — usually prefixed 
with "little" — meaning that one turns 
sideways to pass between the tables 
and eats wholly with wrist movement. 
Then there is always Child's (perhaps 
one should say "Children") — no block 
is without one, and while the menu is 
standardized, there is a difference! 
Nobody would ever mistake the clien- 
tele of Fifth Avenue at Forty-eighth, 
where the exotic gather to nibble 
daintily along after midnight, for the 
hordes who order vegetable stew far- 
ther up Broadway — at a nickel less! 
* * * 

TF one eats out, it is only a step more 
to a show. Every week is bringing 
new plays to Broadway. Some for a 
brief glance and some that will com- 
pete ineffectually, of course, with that 
full-blown rose of Abie's. Eva Le 
Gallienne has gathered a group about 
her for repertory in the old Fourteenth 
Street Theater, and if the men in the 
company are a shade too young 
through their grease-paint for their 
heavy Russian roles, at least they are 
better being hea\y than attempting 
Italian sprightliness. "Turandol" had 
its resplendent premiere at the Metro- 
politan with Jeritza in the role of the 
vengeful Chinese Princess, an L'rban 
set and magnificent costumes helping 
to satisfy the eye, where the ear of the 
critic tried without too much success 
to recognize Puccini at his best. Mol- 
nar's "The Play's the Thing" — at the 
Henry Miller — with Holbrook Blinn 
cast as the resourceful dramatist in 
the piece, is very talky, and all about 

{Continued on piif^e 32) 

The San Franciscan 

Miss C\nthia Boyd 


Mi.'i Patricia Clark 


The San Franciscan 

THE names of the girls whose 
ability put over the Junior 
League Fiesta, of those who 
dreamed the dream and saw the fin- 
ished spectacle, of those who sang and 
danced and laughed and willed through 
it all, have been published over and 
over. \\ hich does not mean that all 
has been published. 

Romance budded there. And kisses 
were exchanged that should not have 
been. And engagements may follow. 
Youth will be served. 

\\ hich leads to the question which 
occupied many minds the next day: 
"In what room did you sit.'" 

It seems that there was a tacit, un- 
written, unbreathed assumption that 
there were gradations according to the 
prominence one occupied in the social 
spectrum and that one's place in the 
sun was fixed by one's assignment to 
ballroom, dining-room, or terrace. A 
sort of "first, place, and show" arrange- 
ment as they used to say in the old 
racing days at Emeryville. But per- 
haps it was all fortuitous, the fact re- 
mains that the so-called ringside seats 
were occupied by the shining lights of 

the social firmament. 

* * * 

WITH the opening of the new 
Hotel Mark Hopkins, and an- 
nouncement of the fact that two 
fifteen-story wings are to be added 
to the Fairmont on the Powell side, 
and that Grace Cathedral at last is 
going to arise from its crypt and spread 
graceful spires to the heavens, it may 
be assumed that old Nob Hill has 
fairly come again into its own. 

The handsome new apartments on 
two corners and the Pacific Union 
Club on another, add their quota to 
the come-back being staged by the old 
hill that used to ring with the mirth of 
another day when society was under 
the aegis of the Floods, Mackays, 
Fairs, and O'Briens, and each of those 
august families were on top of the 
city one way or another, but most cer- 

tainlv geographically. 

* * * 

'T^HERE are San Franciscans who 
'■ remember when the Haggins lived 
in Taylor Street, and the Tevises were 
not far distant; also the A. N. Towne 
mansion, the portals of which stand 
forever attracting kodak fiends to 
Golden Gate Park where they cast 
their shadows into a man-made lake. 

All the leading families clustered 
around the top of the hill and as the 
sparks flew upward it was called 

Mr. and Mrs. ^^ illiam Sproule are 
about the only ones who have a home 
on the eminence, all other habitations 
being in hotels and apartments. But 
that does not mean that it is any less 
smart as a residence district. Some 
young statistician will one day emerge 
wild-eyed from a mass of papers, wave 
a pencil and tell the world how much 
wealth (measurable) and prestige (im- 
ponderable) are cubicled on that hill 
where Mason crosses California. 

Then some follow-up hound will call 
a list of names of prominent people 
living in all the sky-scrapers, and the 
Hill will be vindicated. It will have 
proven the verity of the poet's line, 
"Thev also serve who onlv stand and 

^ ^ ^ 

npHE opening of the Hotel Mark 
Hopkins, like the Junior League 
show, is now in the past tense. To 
review it were banal. Each was bril- 
liant in its own manner. Each a func- 
tion. Each checked off an epoch. 

But the Junior League show cannot 
be passed over lightly. It was too 
superlatively lovely and represents too 
much of the season's social activity. 

\\'hat was the high light.' And the 
dominant tone.' Could Solomon him- 
self have said .' 

However, it is pretty well nigh 
unanimously agreed that Miss \ irginia 
Phillips was the outstanding beauty of 
the event. She has been heralded as 
a New Yorker. As a matter of fact 
she is a San Franciscan, born and bred 
here, and certainly if there is Spanish 
blood in her there is also Celtic and a 
good old California strain. She would 
be the first to disclaim any of the high- 
sounding fustian which has been writ- 
ten about her, for she has the saving 
grace of common sense as well as a 
radiant loveliness. She is the daughter 
of the late Grattan Phillips and Mrs. 
Phillips of Clay Street, went to San 
Francisco schools in her childhood, 
finished in Washington and New York, 
has traveled a bit and studied a lot. 

Preeminently the Fiesta was an 
affair of dancing and costumes. There 
was singing, to be sure, but the "par- 
lor" voices of the girls were faintly 
heard in the great rooms of the Fair- 

mont. Besides, who cared whether 
they sang well or not? Not while the 
eye was so thoroughly filled with 
feminine charm. 

A notable exception was the Coun- 
tess de Limur who, for all her French 
title, is our own Ethel Mary Crocker, 
back from her Paris home on a visit to 
her California home. Her really 
lovely voice was heard to great advan- 
tage in the trio with Meredith Parker 
and Austin Sperry, which opened the 
pantomime. Sperry, by the way, is a 
distant relative of the countess on the 
distaff side. The pantomime was very 
obvioush' borrowed, with certain modi- 
fications, from the act given in Balieff's 
"Chauve Souris" in New York several 
seasons ago. But Balieff offered no 
such pulchritudinous and charming 
queen as Helen Crocker in her golden 
gown, no such graceful and gorgeously 
frocked favorite as Mrs. Nion Tucker, 
and the jester could not compare in 
sprightliness and whimsy with little 
Mrs. Robert Miller. 

The most beautifully costumed num- 
ber undoubtedly was the "Talking to 
the Moon" chorus, the solo of which 
was sung by Parrish Williams who 
was in excellent voice. It was pre- 
sented by the tallest and stateliest 
maids of the show in magnificent 
Spanish Court gowns. Mrs. Alexander 
Wilson sang and danced "The Birth 
of the Blues" so cleverly and win- 
somely as to arouse each of her three 
audiences — in the ballroom, the dining- 
room, and the terrace — to a pitch of 
wild enthusiasm and recall to many 
older San Franciscans the fact that her 
father, the handsome Frank Mathieu 
of affectionate memory, was consid- 
ered the best amateur actor of his 
time. The chorus for the number, in 
blue tulle gowns and fluffy blue wigs, 
had the most muscular, intriguing and, 
to the onlooker, the most difficult dance 
of the evening, kicking high and hearty 
and demonstrating what society girls 
can do if they turn their heels to it. 

Mrs. Rupert Mason in her Spanish 
dance carried off the solo honors of the 
evening, with Mrs. Kenneth Mont- 
eagle a close second as a wicked char- 
mer "In a Little Spanish Town." In 
fact, both, were good enough to im- 
peach their amateur standing. 

Negri Arnoldi in his tango showed 
how a strong, husky young man can 
be utterly graceful without destroying 

The San Franciscan 

the impression that he may be equally 
expert in the more athletic pursuits. 

It is said that the aflfair was a finan- 
cial success beyond the expectations^ 
of the League. Certainly, as a spec-' 
tacle of youthful charm and activity 
it must have satisfied the most carping. 
If there were hitches or hiatuses, mis- 
takes or catastrophes, they did not 
percolate to the public cognizance. 


HE debutantes will occupy the 
stage for the balance of the year. 
Beginning with the ball given by Miss 
Patricia Clark last Saturday at El 
Palomar by her mother, Mrs. Tobin 
Clark, until the old year goes out in a 
sirocco of young sighs there will be 
something doing nearly every day. 

Miss Clark is the second of three 
daughters of Mrs. Tobin Clark, and 
sister of Paul F. Clark. Her coming- 
out party was one of the most elab- 
orate of the year and was preceded by 
a large number of dinners. On the 
evening of December 28th Miss Clark's 
uncle, Richard M. Tobin, who came 
all the way from The Netherlands to 
do obeisance to his charming niece's 
youth and beauty, will give her a 
party at the Bohemian Club, his 
stamping ground for many, many 

On the next night, the 29th, Miss 
Cynthia Boyd, who will by that time 
have worn the crown of debutantehood 
for a whole day, will give a dance at 
the home of her aunt, Mrs. William 
Hinckley Taylor, with about the same 
group of young people attending. 

Miss Boyd's official debut will be on 
the afternoon of December 28th at a 
tea to be given by her mother, Airs. 
George D. Boyd, at Mrs. William 
Hinckley Taylor's home. The Boyd 
home at San Rafael was deemed a bit 
too inaccessible for a large and elab- 
orate function such as Miss Cynthia's 
coming-out party will be. Hence the 
tea at Mrs. Taylor's home, the sister 
of Mrs. Boyd. 

There is probably no larger family 
"connection" in San Francisco society 
than that of the Boyds, Taylors, 
Kittles, and Scotts. The ramifica- 
tions are numerous and reach into 
many families of distinction. 


fRS. William Babcock will give a 
dinner at the Fairmont hotel on 
the night of December 28th to which 
Miss Boyd will go fresh from her tea 
to share the honors with Mrs. Bab- 
cock's niece, the Honorable Barbara 
Bagot, who is here from England for 
the winter. Later the party will go 
to Mr. Tobin's ball for Miss Clark at 
the Bohemian Club. 

Miss Constance Horn will have her 
coming-out party December 17th, 

when her parents, Mr. and Mrs. 
William Palmer Horn will give a ball 
at the Bohemian Club. Miss Horn is 
a tall, brunette girl of much charm and 
beauty, a granddaughter of Mrs. 
Camilo Martin, and a descendant of 
one of the oldest families in San Fran- 
cisco. Camilo Martin was the Span- 
ish consul here for many years. Mrs. 
Camilo Martin was Miss Frances A. 
Hyde, daughter of one of the famous 
Vigilantes of sand-lot times. There 
are three other daughters: Mrs. Alex- 
ander Garceau, Sister Gertrude of the 
Holy Names, who was Miss Florence 
Hyde, Mrs. Hyde Smith, and Miss 
Mary Hyde. All but Sister Gertrude, 
who is now in Oakland, live in Jackson 

A/rlSS Frances Baldwin also was 
•'• -^ a debutante this month. She is 
a daughter of Alexander Baldwin of 
Woodside and Stanford Court, and a 
granddaughter of Mrs. John Glass- 
cock, formerly of Oakland. Her debut 
was a tea given at the Baldwin apart- 
ments at Stanford Court by Mrs. 
Glasscock and Aliss Mary Baldwin. 
Miss Frances wore a charming Chanel 
frock of white chiflFon, simply made, 
with a cluster of beaded flowers on the 
side. Assisting her and her grand- 
mother and sister in receiving were 
Misses Patricia Clark, Ynez Mejia, 
Margaret and Mary Redington, Con- 
stance Horn, Martha Ransome, Mary 
and Margaret Zane. Miss Baldwin 
will give a dinner dance at the St. 
Francis on December 14th for more 
than fifty guests. 

Miss Mejia, Miss Nancy Davis, and 
one or two others of the same set, have 
not yet set the dates of their debuts. 
Miss Martha Ransome was launched 
most auspiciously at a tea at the St. 
Francis December 1st. A dinner that 
nisht was given by Mr. and Mrs. 
William Hendrickson, Jr., and Barroll 
McNear, and a ball later by Mr. and 
Mrs. Bernard Ransome at the St. 


^HE wedding of Miss Caroline Mad- 
ison and Charles Oelrichs Martin 
January Sth at the home of Miss Madi- 
son's sister, Mrs. Wakefield Baker, will 
be the first of the weddings which will 
come in rapid succession before Lent 
settles down after the Mardi Gras 
ball on March 1st. 

Miss Idabelle Wheaton and Mrs. 
Baker will be the only attendants and 
the wedding will be small and quiet, 
much to the disappointment of all who 
remember the brilliant wedding of 
Miss Lily Oelrichs and Peter Martin, 
parents of the bridegroom-elect. 
Whether Martin's mother, now the 
Duchess of Mecklenberg, will come 

for the wedding, is problematical. 
Miss Madison is the daughter of 
Frank Madison and sister of Marshall 
Madison, who married Miss Elena 
Eyre some years ago. 

* * * 

npHEN in February will come the 
■*■ weddings of Miss Eleanor Morgan 
and Augustus Vlrden, and of Miss 
Phyllis Potter and Bruce Dohrmann. 
Perhaps some of those Junior League 
engagements will have been announced 
by then. The names of Misses Helene 
Lundborg and MoUie McBryde were 
whispered in the Spanish Garden the 
night of the Fiesta, but both deny the 

Miss Idabelle Wheaton is said to be 
more in demand as a bridesmaid than 
any other girl in society. She was in 
Mrs. Starr Bruce's wedding party and 
will be Miss Madison's bridesmaid. 
Baltzer Peterson is known as society's 
perennial best man. "The Constant 
Best Man," he might be called. 

Mr. and Mrs. Starr Bruce will be 
home from their honeymoon trip to 
Honolulu before the holidays and there 
will doubtless be a round of enter- 
taining for them. 

* * * 

WHICH leaves not one word said 
about those older than the mid- 
dle twenties. Where are the "young 
matrons" of yester-year? They just 

Debs and brides, or nothing. After 
twenty-five it is bridge and oblivion so 

far as this season is concerned. 

* * * 

ANOTHER bride-elect whose ap- 
^ *■ proaching marriage is of much 
interest here is Miss Elisabeth Raoul- 
Duval and Jean Coutourie of Paris. 
Miss Raoul-Duval is a cousin of 
Misses Patricia and Mary Clark, a 
niece of Mrs. Tobin Clark and Richard 
M. Tobin. The wedding will take 
place in the early spring. Coutourie is 
a brother of the Duchess Decazes and 

the Comtesse Charles de Lesseps. 

* * * 

■nOURN Hayne, son of Mr. and Mrs. 
■^ William Alston Hayne, is planning 
a unique New Year's Eve party, but 
to tell the details would spoil the fun 
for the guests. Sufficient to say he is 
looking over the town for someone who 
can call the Lancers, the \'irginia Reel, 
and other old-fashioned dances. The 
affair will be held at the Bourn ranch 
near St. Helena and it has been whis- 
pered that the guests will be met at 
the station by hay wagons instead of 
limousines. Graham Cranston is an- 
other who is planning a New Year's 
party. But for want of an open date 
his will be on December 30th. It will 
be held at the new Mark Hopkins hotel. 
{Continued on page 22) 


The San Franciscan 

The San Franciscan 


(Cotili lined from page 20 1 

IV/rlSS Patricia Clark's coming-out 
^'^ ball was one of the most beauti- 
fully appointed affairs which San 
Francisco has seen for many months. 
Certainly not since Miss Janet Whit- 
man's debutante ball at the Burling- 
ame Club early in October has there 
been anything so exquisitely lovely. 

The decorations were done by the 
Misses Worn. The great pavilion 
built on the grounds of El Palomar was 
done to simulate fairyland, or one's 
idea of a glorified fairyland. 

Miss Patricia is the second daughter 
of Mrs. Tobin Clark, a niece of Rich- 
ard M. Tobin, and of Mrs. Raoul- 
Duval of Paris. The Tobin ramifica- 
tions are numerous and reach to the 
roots of San Francisco society. On 
her father's side she is a granddaughter 
of the late Senator Clark of Montana, 
and a niece of William Clark of Los 
Angeles, known there as the angel of 
the Symphony Orchestra. She is a 
sister of Misses Mary and Agnes 
Clark and Paul Clark. 

ly/fR. and Mrs. John Drum will give 
^*- a dance December 23rd for Mr. 
and Mrs. John Magee, who are coming 
from their home in New York to spend 
several weeks here. They will arrive 
next week from the East with Ray- 
mond Armsby, who will open his home 
at Burlingame for the holidays. Later 
the Magees will be the guests of Mr. 
and Mrs. Daniel C. Jackling at Wood- 

The Magees were here two years ago 
and were guests of the Jacklings at the 
St. Francis. Mr. and Mrs. Drum will 
take two of the floors of the proposed 
new annex to the Fairmont hotel, it 

is said. 

* * * 

'"pHE wedding date of Miss Gene- 
*- vieve Tallant of Santa Barbara 
and William Earl Graham, son of Mrs. 
Pollock Graham of this city is set, 
according to friends of the couple, but 
they are not taking anyone into the 
secret. That it will be after Easter is 
all they will admit. 

Mrs. Charles Dabney (Geraldine 
Graham) will be in the wedding party, 
as will also Mrs. Arthur Gibson of 

this citv. 

* * * 

npHE Women's City Club's first din- 
-^ ner dance Saturday evening, De- 
cember 11th, demonstrated that the 
City Club had (or has) digressed from 
its original intention of making the 
world safe for stenographers. For 
Society was there in its shortest skirts 
and sprightliest mood. 



Between courses there were bits of 
the Junior League show repeated for 
the entertainment of the guests, who 
numbered nearly two hundred. This 
was due to the efforts and enterprise 
of Mrs. Howard Park, who is a mem- 
ber of Mrs. Harry Staats Moore's 
committee, the Club Auditorium 
group. Mrs. Charles Miner Cooper's 
fine executive ability had much to do 
with the success of the dance, she be- 
ing chairman of the Club's hospitality 
committee. Other members of that 
committee are Mesdames Louis F. 
Monteagle, Henry J. Crocker, Willis 
\\'alker, Kenneth R. Kingsbury, Perry 
Eyre, A. J. Dibblee, and Miss Ruth 

Among those who had tables were 
Miss Edith Slack, Mrs. James Theo- 
dore Wood, Mrs. Parker Maddux, Mrs. 
Kenneth Kingsbury, Mrs. Perry Eyre, 
Mrs. Harold K. Faber, and Mrs. 
Howard Park. As the orchestra was 
engaged only until midnight a number 
of the guests had time to go down the 
peninsula to attend the dance by Mrs. 
Tobin Clark for her daughter, Miss 

Patricia Clark. 

* * * 

[IBS Leonore Armsby, who went 
to Paris but two short months 
ago to purchase her trousseau, is on 
her way home. She left the day after 
announcing her engagement to Alfred 
Hendrickson, making the trip under 
the protection of her uncle, Raymond 
Armsby. Her parents," Mr. and Mrs. 
George N. Armsby, went to New York 
to meet Miss Armsby, and together 
they are having a happy time in the 
metropolis. The family will return 
to California in January, after which 
the wedding date will be set. 

* * * 

'T*HE San Francisco Garden Club's 
■^ first big affair, with program and 
prospectus of the year to come, was 
cancelled within a few days of the 
date set because of the sudden illness 
and subsequent death of Mrs. Adam 
Grant. The meeting was to have been 
in the form of a tea at the home of 
Mrs. Joseph D. Grant in Broadway, 
with tea after the elaborate program. 

It is likely that the Garden Club will 
hold the postponed meeting early in 
the new year, as the membership is 
eager to prosecute its work with all 
dispatch. Mrs. William Hinckley Tay- 
lor is the president and under her 
able direction much is planned for the 
beautification of San Francisco. 

npHE wedding of Miss Adelaide Grif- 

■*■ fith and Eric Cochrane will take 

place December 29th and will be e.\- 

tremelv quiet on account of the recent 

death of Miss Griflnth's father, the 
late Charles M. Griffith, who died in 
Switzerland last summer. 

Miss Griffith is a niece of Miss Alice 
Griffith and a granddaughter of the 
late Captain Millen Griffith and a 
cousin of Millen Griffith. 

Cochrane comes from Fresno and is 
a University of California graduate. 
Miss Griflfith was also a student at the 
University of California and it was on 
the campus that the romance started. 
The wedding will take place at Trinity 
Church with the Reverend Charles 
Deems officiating. 

* If: * 

\/fRS. William T. Sesnon and Mrs. 
^^^ Charles C. Moore were the guests 
of honor at a delightful evening given 
by Mr. and Mrs. Prentis Cobb Hale at 
their home in Vallejo Street Decem- 
ber 8th. The affair was by way of 
being a dedication of the new ballroom 
of the Hale home. The new addition 
started out to be a garage. At least, 
that was what the Hales intended when 
they bought the lot adjoining their 
property. Then young Prentis wanted 
a gymnasium. Then Mrs. Hale de- 
cided that she would have a ballroom, 
with a stage "and everything." So 
ballroom and stage there is and the 
party was regaled with two plays on 
the new stage, and music between 
the plays. Charles C. Moore was the 
master of ceremonies and speeches 
were made by Milton Esberg and the 
host, who was in happy vein. 

One of the plays was "Letters," the 
cast including Mrs. Frederick H. 
Meyer, Mrs. Carlo Sutro Morbio, and 
Miss Mary Davis. The other play was 
presented by Mrs. Sesnon, Miss Helen 
Brack, Sterling Rounthwaite, and Rob- 
ert Carman-Ryles. 

* * * 

\/rRS. Gaillard Stoney is planning to 
-'- -^ go to the Near East in February 
with a party which is being arranged 
by the New York office of the Near 
East Relief. The part}' will stop at 
Rome and visit Jerusalem, and return 
to America within two months. Mrs. 
Stoney is the San Francisco chairman 
of the Near East Relief and Judge 
William Waste the California chair- 


VPTAIN and Mrs. Powers Syming- 
ton are coming to San Francisco 
just after the holidays and there 
doubtless will be much entertaining 
for them as both are popular in local 
society and Mrs. Symington grew up 
here. She was Miss Maud Fay and 
friends of the numerous Fay clan will 
vie with each other in entertaining for 

The San Franciscan 

7, Rue De La Paix 

San Francisco and Its Women as Seen by the Head of the House of Worth 

(EDITOR'S NOTE. M. Jacques Worth, one of 
the foremost of French designers, was recently a 
visitor in San Francisco. Through the courtesy 
of Michael Weill, the host of Monsieur Worth, the 
following exclusive article was obtained for "THE 
SAN FRANCISCAN." The Editor wishes to 
acknowledge his deep appreciation to both Mr. 
Weill and Monsieur Worth.) 

SAN FRANCISCO is gay, and self- 
confident — and above all things — 
young. But it is not the simu- 
lated youth that your women show, 
nor merely the youth of the body. It 
is the eternal youth of the soul. Of the 
eagerness to live. Of the delightful 
curiosity that has not been disap- 
pointed by disillusionment. She walks 
with spirit. She dresses with the dis- 
creet courage that she shares with the 
chic Parisienne. She is a psycho- 
logical cocktail to the imagination of 
the designer of dresses. And above all 
things she is willing to be her delight- 
ful self, in her home, in her social life, 
and, praise Heaven, in her choice of 
clothing. She does not admire the 
rubber stamp manner of dressing. She 
has the courage of her own personality. 
One thinks of the costume "pour le 
sport" in San Francisco. The mood 
persists, even in the suave fabrics of 
the evening mode. Not so much in 
actual line, or in color, as in feeling. 
She is a woman clad for the fine art of 
living, rather than a display rack for 
a beautiful gown. When the dame de 
la mode wears a costume in San Fran- 
cisco, it takes on the quality of the 
wearer. It is a frame for her person- 
ality, from which her charm shines out 
enhanced, and not overshadowed. 

T AM surprised to see so few of what 
you call "flappers" on the streets of 
San Francisco. Jeunes filles, fresh, 
young and lovely, but not extreme in 
dress nor manner. 

I think I saw the ideal type today 
in one of your art stores. I mean the 
ideal type that the maker of gowns 
must keep in his mind's eye when he is 
designing a dress for an unknown 
wearer. I think she is typical of San 
Francisco, perhaps. She was about 
twenty. Blond, with the delicate ash 
blond hair, soft and a little wavy. Her 
eyes were blue, open and direct. Her 
complexion was fair, but not of the 
hothouse tint. The sun had touched 
it into a delicate rose. Her waist was 
high, anatomically speaking, her legs 
rather long, and slenderly round. Her 
calves were high, and her ankles slim, 
but not too slim, and she walked deli- 


cately but surely, one foot nearly 
straight ahead of the other, the heel 
down a fraction of a second before the 

toe. *:{::(; 

'"PHE spring mode will suit the San 

Francisco mood most excellently. 

The attempt at elaboration of the 

silhouette will have disappeared. The 

.■In Impression of Worth by Pielke 

woman of today and tomorrow will 
keep the straight, short skirted frock 
of youth and freedom that she has en- 
joyed for many years now, in spite of 
any effort to the contrary. The 
beauty of the fabric, the subtle 
nuances of design will be emphasized. 

In shoes will be a development. 
With the short skirt the shoe has come 
into its own. I predict that the smart 
San Francisco woman will soon be 
wearing shoes of French design — of 
American make perhaps, almost ex- 

clusively, even for sport, and cer- 
tainly for dress. The intricate decora- 
tion that is possible with the new 
leathers without garish contrast opens 
a whole new palette for the designer 
of foot gear to work with. 

The ensemble is the thing. The 
harmony of the whol costume. The 
fitness of the whole to the occasion on 
which it is worn. The discrimination 
between the outfits suitable for the 
morning, for the afternoon, for the 
evening. That is what the mode of 
tomorrow will emphasize — a develop- 
ment rather than an arbitrary change 
of any sort. 

TX our establishment in Paris we 
create a thousand models a season. 
Perhaps, if we are fortunate, sixty are 
successful. Perhaps twenty are really 
new and original, from an esthetic 
standpoint. When we are fortunate 
enough to have a patron who will say, 
"Study my type and let us take time 
to make something that is perfect," 
then we arrive at real beauty. Too 
many women rush in and say, "I 
must have a gown for tonight. A 
ball. The opera. Hurry, Hurry!" 

The personality is after all the 
thing! Fashion, style, color, silhou- 
ette are ail less important than the 
spirit of the woman who wears the 
creation. The creations are then 
authentic and beautiful in themselves, 
reflecting the personality of the wom- 
an they are chosen for. But if only 
every woman would take time and 
thought to clothe her spirit in the real 
expression of it the world would be 
more beautiful and the women happier. 


ALWAYS love to come to San Fran- 
cisco. There is an invisible but 
perfectly tangible path directly from 
Paris to your streets. There are de- 
lightful homes all over America, but 
the hostesses of San Francisco have a 
way of making their entertainments 
so pleasant, so simple and so elegantly 
appointed without being oppressive. 
If it were not comparing the lily to the 
rose, I might venture to say that San 
F"rancisco is the Paris of America — but 
that is to a Parisian who feels at home 
in San Francisco. But surely those of 
this charming city who know Paris 
must think of it as the San Francisco 
of Europe, and for the same reason — 
for the\' feel so at home there. 

The San Franciscan 

The Amazon Invasion 

(EDITOR'S NOTE. Nancy Barr Mavity is the 
author of two books, "Hazard" and "A Dinner of 
H,erbs," and is a frequent contributor to America's 
foremost magazines. At present she is on the 
editorial staff of the "Oakland Tribune.") 

A FEW years ago Joseph Herges- 
heimer grew fearfully agitated 
about the feminine monopoly of 
American literature. Women were not 
only writing our books, they were also 
reading them, and in consequence the 
books they didn't write were never- 
theless written with an eye to the 
feminine public. As to the writing, of 
course, we could hardly claim any- 
thing even approaching a monopoly. 
As to the reading, there is nothing to 
prevent men from engaging in that 
indoor sport if they feel inclined. As 
to the criticism that the public exerts 
on books before they are written — 
which is real enough, being the only 
time when criticism does an)rthing 
more than lock stable doors after es- 
caped horses — Hergesheimer's alarm 
rose from his innate conviction that it 
was a biological mistake to lump wom- 
en with men in the same ge7itis homo, 
more or less sapiens. It is an axiom 
with Hergesheimer that women exist 
to be seen and not heard from. 

However, Hergesheimer really was 
seeing something, even if it isn't the 
bogie he thought it was. The "woman 
novel" exists today, in a sense quite 
different from that in which "Madame 
Bovary" and "Evelyn Inness" are 
woman novels. Every publishing sea- 
son now brings at least several of 
them; and the interesting point — a 
point which Hergesheimer in his gen- 
eral panic would not be likely to 
mark — is, that they are showing a dis- 
tinct change from those of even a few 
seasons ago. When women first be- 
gan to appear in fiction as worth 
bothering about, the author concen-, 
trated on the "feminine psychology'' 
of her emotions — emotion being about 
the only psychological apparatus she 
was supposed to have. Then when 
women broke loose and began to harp 
somewhat insistently on the revolu- 
tionary slogan that they are "people," 
the concentration veered to the strug- 
gle with circumstance which ensued 
when women began to "behave like 
human beings.'' 

At that stage the outstanding "wom- 
an novels" found their major problem 
in women's invasion of the field hither- 
to sacred to the Tired Business Man. 
We had Charles Morris's "Bread"— 
in which it was shown that a woman 


could not have control of her own 
money without being divorced from 
her husband and wishing she wasn't; 
A. S. M. Hutchinson's "This Free- 
dom" — in which the heroine's pen- 
chant for mathematics naturally led 
to her children's falling under railway 
trains and taking to the "streets" 
(there was a third offspring, but I for- 
get its particular harrowing fate); and 
Helen Hull's "Labyrinth," which 
though sympathetic, ended in the 
futility of trying to storm the citadel 
where husbands present a united front 
behind the battlements — and in which 
the mother could not take a month's 
business trip without having her small 
son break a leg. 

npHIS season's crop, to take three at 
random, have passed beyond the 
acute self-consciousness of women 
shouting that they are people, against 
men shouting that they aren't. The 
self-consciousness was extremely na- 
tural — one can hardly be blandly una- 
ware of a boil on the point of one's 
elbow. But when one no longer has 
to think of the boil, one is free to think 
of other things. In "Three Women,"' 
for instance, Faith Baldwin presents 
not only three generations, but also 
three individual and eternal types of 
character. Of the three it is the oldest, 
not the youngest, who has and wor- 
ships power. Her possessive love for 
her son is of the sort that works by 
suction — the "maternal instinct" is 
not always sweet and pretty in its 
manifestations. She wreaks her jeal- 
ousy and hate on her daughter-in-law, 
Elizabeth, who had not suppressed 
passion as Louisa Sheldon did, but 
who responded to it without respecting 
it. Consequently the weak and emo- 
tional Elizabeth agrees with Louisa 
that she is forever disgraced because 
her marriage was hastened for reasons 
of propriety. When her young hus- 
band contracts pneumonia on their 
wedding day and dies a few days later 
she is utterly at the mercy of her vin- 
dictive mother-in-law who holds over 
her as a weapon the exposure of her 
"past." Elizabeth's daughter Joyce 
is "modern" in the sense that she 
knows that physical attraction, how- 
ever strong, is not the sufficient basis 
of a life-long union and that she can 
fall in love without thereby losing 
interest in her passion for medical 


iVl Women of the Family" = is also 
a study of several generations and 
presents an interesting and original 
problem: Is the insanity which over- 
takes successive beautiful and brilliant 
Romer women an inherited taint, or 
does it represent an "escape from 
reality" made necessary, in each case, 
by the operation of similar circum- 
stances.' Each one of these hapless 
women was married to a well-meaning 
man who ignored her intellectual 
needs. Suzanne, the modern repre- 
sentative, escapes because she is 
brought to see that disappointment in 
love and husbands need not wreck 
life, because life is various enough to 
be lived on other terms than those of 

Neither of these novels is a return 
to the old emotional preoccupation. 
Social changes make possible Joyce 
Sheldon's knowledge, her courage — 
and her interest in experimental bi- 
ology. She cannot be intimidated, 
like her mother, by a "past," because 
pasts are no longer supremely damag- 
ing to the one life-object legitimately 
open to women. It would have been 
useless to tell those other Romer 
women that they need not be pre- 
occupied with their husbands, since 
no other interest was at their disposal. 
Suzanne's solution depends on the 
terms, not only of life, but of modern 

The one "business woman" novel 
of the collection was written by a 
man. But Roger Burlingame in "Su- 
san Shane"^ shows none of the 
anguished terror of Norris and Hutch- 
inson. Being free of this obsession, he 
is able to write a story of character in 
a business setting, with a woman in- 
stead of a man for protagonist. Susan 
Shane does not become incredible as 
a woman merely because she is en- 
dowed with both ability and ambi- 
tion. She withstands the call of ro- 
mance in the person of a young artist- 
dreamer (they would certainly have 
quarreled desperately within a year) 
and she marries her financial backer 
whom she likes without thrills. But 
nobody breaks a neck over this. What 
Susan Shane savs, verv characteristi- 
cally, is, "Oh, well—" ■ 
* * * 

A S to the "feminine public" and its 
■ emasculating influence on letters, 
the alarmists are big-game hunting 

(Continued on page 32) 

The San Franciscan 

One of Our Moderns 

Canton. An eager adolescent 
who came to San Francisco four 
years ago and now, at the age of 
twenty, joins the strivelings in art and 
follows his participation in the opening 
exhibit at the new Modern Gallery, in 
Alontgomery street, with a one-man 
show that has attracted keen atten- 

That is Yun. Yun what? we ask. 
"Just Yun — that is all the name that 
is really mine and belongs to me alone, ' 
fays this amazing youngster with the 
interesting accent and eager ideas. 

And his art? It is not amateurish — 
although Yun has painted less than a 
year — but it is young. Young in its 
enthusiasms and pseudo-restraints, 
those self-imposed limitations that 


emphasize the essential orgy of his 
discoveries in color and form. Young 
in the earnestness soon to be mocked 
by sophistication. Young in its eager 
display of all he has to give. 

\ \D here the exhibition betrays its 
■^ artist for its seventy-three pieces 
include drawings that should never 
have left the work room, sketches use- 
ful only to the artist himself in the 
process of analysis or. possibly, years 
later to the dealer who capitalizes on 
the indiscriminate worship given any- 
thing touched by a hand that has won 
fame for its master. These drawings 
are, for the most part, meaningless and 
vague — mere imaginative trailings. 
Exception to this damning is given in 

the case of the drawing called 
"Strollers," a succession of broadside 
strokes that give a feeling of movement 
and rhythm. Y 

Yun's paintings, on the other hand, 
are mostly well thought out even 
though many seem mere haphazard 
conglomerations at first. It is the 
essential feeling of design and the con- 
scious placing of color that brings 
second glance meaning out of first 
sight chaos. 

Yun calls his color tones "notes'" in 
the music of his design. He earnesily 
insists that he paints a music that 
wells up from his heart. He points to 
a succession of warm color strokes and 
likens them to violin tones. He calls 
attention to other definite color plac- 
(Contir.ued on Page 33) 

The San Franciscan 


MLLE. Suzanne Lenglen, world's 
greatest woman tennis player, 
is now appearing on the West 
Coast in her professional march across 
America. The "Great Suzanne" has 
been attracting much attention in both 
sport and social circles everywhere ex- 
cept in the Northwest, where crowds 
were reported small. Her latest 

matches, held in San Francisco and 
Oakland, were more successful; and it 
is expected that the crowds in Los 
Angeles where she plays next, will 
also be complimentary. 

Mile. Lenglen played in this country 
in 192L and was forced by ill health 
to decline or postpone several matches; 
this caused a great deal of premature 
controvers}', challenging both her cour-_ 
age and ability. On her return to 
France, Mile. Lenglen wrote a pointed 
article in Je Sais Tout in which she 
said that ''America is truly cruel for 
French athletes." 

In another statement made at the 
time of her former trip to America, she 
declared that one of the greatest im- 
pressions she received over here, was 
of the value of international sport 
competition in strengthening the ties 
of friendship between nations. At 
that time, even as now, practically all 
international competitions were by 
amateur athletes. Yet, after making 
the statement she turned professional, 
and once more started a buzz of gossip. 

In spite of all this talk, and of her 
many illnesses (which sometimes have 
a bad habit of coming in the midst of 
a match), her decisive victories over 
Miss Wills and all other rivals, have in 
the minds of most logical sport writers 
stamped her as the real Queen of tennis 
today; and perhaps the most brilliant 
woman tennis star of all time. Her 
confident strokes, her very aggressive 
game, and her sometimes extraordinary 
brilliance, often bring her playing to 
the point of the spectacular. She is 
equally interesting to the studied ten- 
nis player and to the grandstand. 

As to the possibilities for profes- 
sional tennis, which this trip is sup- 
posed to test, there still remains the 
question of whether it is professional 
tennis or Mile. Lenglen that draws the 
huge attendance. The fact that the 
crowds have included so many people 


who have heretofore ignored notable 
matches, and a great many who do not 
even know the game, has gi\-en a strong 
flavor to the theory that it is Mile. 

* * * 

/~\N any summer morning during the 
^'^ past few years an observer at a 
certain landing-stage might have seen 
a huge glistening white hydroplane 
bobbing merrily up and down on the 
waters of Southampton Bay, Long 
Island, and a bit later a small crowd 
of otherwise sedate business men climb- 
ing over her side, making fast in their 
comfortable chairs, while they laughed, 
joked, hailed each other and generally 
acted like boys out of school. Every 
morning, without a break in schedule 
they fly to the New York Yacht Club 
landing on Riverside Drive, making a 
short motor jaunt from that point to 
their offices to meet again in the even- 
ing, and fly back to South Shore resi- 
dences, exhilarated and refreshed for 

Several enterprising sportsmen about 
San Francisco and adjoining cities 
have recently taken to flapping their 
duralumin wings, and seem to be en- 
joying it keenly. Excellent weather 
conditions exist along this part of the 
coast a large part of the year, formal 
airdromes and emergency landing fields 
are plentiful, small planes of great 
serviceability are to be had at reason- 
able cost, and withal there is nothing 
to prevent a young man — or woman — 
from stepping out. 

I wonder if most sportsmen realize 
that it costs little more to maintain a 
thoroughly dependable plane and 
mechanician than it does a high- 
powered motor car and driver? 

An assumed element of great risk 
may possibly contribute to the rather 
sluggish enlistment of amateurs in the 
field. This is very difficult to under- 
stand, for if sports-insurance rates were 
to be calculated on the basis of broken 
necks or other limbs, the rate for polo 
players, for instance, would soar high 
above that of aero pilots. We are 
sorry not to have at hand exact figures 
of casualties which occurred during 
the last five or six years in such repre- 
sentative services as the U. S. postal 
planes or such great services as the 

London-Paris or leading inter-conti- 
nental passenger schedules. The rate 
is startlingly low. 

I was talking some time ago to a 
vice-president of the Aetna Life In- 
surance Company, who has studied the 
matter of air risks, and is eager to go 
ahead at such time as the Federal 
Government ratifies the International 
Air Convention. 

And speaking of governing bodies 
coming to life, why is it that a city as 
large, important, and generally aggres- 
sive as San Francisco, has as yet pro- 
vided no municipal landing field.' 
They have them — well planned and 
equipped — in the hazy centers of the 
provincial styx, and they are busy 
night and day. It is a known fact that 
if the municipality would condescend 
to bestir itself in this connection, any 
number of business houses would 
profit, and real sport would receive an 
impetus and welcome variety. 

TCE skating is the sport de rigeur at 

the moment. This season it hap- 
pens to be fashionable as well as ex- 
hilarating to skim over an artificial 
pond on a pair of steel skids fastened to 
the boots, and fashion has as much to 
do with the acceptance or rejection of 
anything or anybody as the merit of 
the thing or body itself. Such is 
human nature. 

So we skate. Next year it may be 
bicycles or tiddlywinks. Once in the 
\ ictorian ooze it was croquet. 

The Monday Night Skating Club is 
a large and enthusiastic one and there 
are many good skaters in San Fran- 
cisco, partly because not all San Fran- 
ciscans had the good fortune to grow 
up here, and partly because there was 
a similar skating arena here some ten 
years ago when scores learned the 
diflficult feat of balancing on slender 
steel runners. 

Those who came from Gopher 
Prairie and points east of the Sierra 
Nevadas take to it like ducks to water. 
Others achieve it or have it thrust 
upon them. 

The Monday Night Club sent out 
invitations a few weeks ago in the 
names of Mrs. Kenneth Kingsburv, 
Mrs. Walter S. Martin, Mrs. WiUard 
O. \\'ayman, and Mrs. C. O. G. Miller. 

The San Franciscan 

Society Takes to the Ice 


Mrs. John Clark Burgard Dr. C. M. Cooper Joseph Oliver Tobin Mrs. Richard Ileimann Mrs. George Lieb C. 0. C. Miller 


Mrs. IVUIard 0. Il'axman 

WJOEVS' l'% 

Mrs. C. 0. a. Miller and Robert Miller 

Kenneth Kingsbury and C. (). (.'. Miller 

The San Franciscan 



The Stock Market and the Outlook for 1927 


THE stock market has always 
been and always will be the 
best barometer of business con- 
ditions throughout the country. Group- 
ing as it does the stocks of every in- 
dustry and enterprise and placing upon 
them a valuation based upon the best 
informed and most enlightened opinion 
of a free and highly competitive mar- 
ket, one can readily understand how 
stock prices adjust themselves not only 
to the present state of business but to 
its prospective condition as well. One 
need only to follow the curves of aver- 
age stock prices and business over a 
period of years to realize how very 
closely these curves correspond — the 
stock curve usually anticipating the 
business curve by from three to six 
months. All shrewd business men 
keep an eye on the market. It fur- 
nishes an invaluable aid in the intelli- 
gent direction of their affairs. 

The business man, were he to sur- 
vey a chart of the stock and business 
curves, would note that for over five 
years now the stock market has risen 
steadily with only slight interruptions 
in the forward trend. He would ob- 
serve that average industrial stocks 
are up some hundred points and rail 
stocks up some sixty points from their 
1921 lows and that, in extent of time 
and advance, the present bull market 
has been the greatest in history. It is 
patent that broad economic forces of 
exceptional nature have been at work. 
What are they.? And, are they still 

Bitter lessons were learned in the 
wild inflation and collapse which fol- 
lowed in the wake of war's termina- 
tion but they were not suffered in 
vain. The efficiency of our industrial 
system in all its ramifications is one of 
the cornerstones of our national pros- 
perity. The high degree of efficiency 
still exists and will continue. 

"p^OR several years now our vaults 
" have held not far from one half of 
the world's total gold supply. Credit 
has been available in abundance. That 
no inflation has resulted is a tribute 
to commercial sobriety and banking 
guidance. The plethora of capital will 
continue; so will conservative banking. 
Our present administration has been 
favorable to business interests, large 
and small. Its fairness, soundness and 
economy have won the faith and con- 
fidence of the country at large. There 
appears no prospect of a change in 
this favorable governmental policy. 

The American nation is becoming 
progressively more thrifty and indi- 
vidual investment accounts are grow- 
ing. The American people now save 
14>^ per cent of an aggregate annual 
income of {564,000,000,000, compared 
with 10^ per cent out of an income of 
334,000,000,000 before the war, which 
means that annual savings out of 
earnings have risen from about 23,500,- 
000,000 pre-war to ?9,3OO,O0O,OOO to- 
day. Surplus earnings are not being 
wildly spent as in post-war days on 
silk shirts and other luxuries. A 
larger proportion of savings each year 
goes into sound investments. 

A LARGE proportion of our recent 
■'■ prosperity has been based on 
record-breaking production in the 
building, iron and steel, and automo- 
tive industries. The outlook there is 
not as good as it has been. With the 
exception of these three key industries 
all the constructive factors above 
enumerated should still be operative 
during the coming year. To these 
may be added: Our high railroad 
efficiency, lack of inflation in the 
commodity markets, moderate inven- 
tories, and buying of a hand-to-mouth 

1926 will have been a year of record 
achievements. Because we have had 
seven years of mounting prosperity, 
culminating in what at the close of the 
month will be the banner year in 
American corporate history, does not 
per se preclude 1927 from usurping the 
glory which accrues to the present 
vear. It is improbable however, both 
in view of the "time and extent of 
progress" element and the fact that 
our three key industries give every 
indication of slowing down appreci- 
ably next year. Moreover, certain 
maladjustments have crept in to dis- 
turb the equilibrium of a formerly 
nicely balanced situation; for instance, 
a decline in the purchasing power of 
agricultural communities at large as a 
result of cotton and grain crop depre- 
ciation. Also the slowing down pro- 
cess of general business will mean 
keener competition with an expected 
lowering of profit margins. 

A S a result of our well ordered bank- 
■^ ing system and the sagacity of 
our industrial leaders, the peaks and 
valleys of our former bull cycles may 
be flattening out. For this reason pre- 
conceived ideas of bull and bear mar- 
kets had better be discarded. The 

peak of the bull market in stocks may 
or may not be over, but certainly no 
old-fashioned bear market is in sight 
— not with the money market as it is. 
Corporation bond prices have been 
making new highs every day for some 
time past. Remembering that the top 
levels of any bond market habitually 
occur some months prior to the high 
peaks in stocks, it is not impossible 
that new high records will be scored 
either in January, at the peak of in- 
vestment demand, or next spring, 
following a February or March break. 
At any rate, the following is a funda- 
mental factor of great importance: 
The trend of interest rates over a 
period of years is distinctly toward 
lower levels and investors eventually 
will have to accustom themselves to 
stock and bond prices which are even 
higher than those prevailing today. 
During the next six months any way 
money is going to be cheaper. 

CCANNING a few of the groups on 
the New York Stock Exchange we 
find that certain industries will im- 
prove their performance next year 
over 1926, such as the sugar and 
equipment industries. The stock mar- 
ket barometer has for some time told 
us that the coming year is not ex- 
pected to be so profitable for the 
building, steel and motor trades. In- 
dividual exceptions will have to be 
made however, of our two big indus- 
trial leaders, U. S. Steel and General 
Motors, which will continue to make 
money at the expense of their com- 
petitors. The rails are going to main- 
tain a fairly high and stable level. Even 
though an interruption next year in 
business activity will cut down on net 
earnings somewhat, the pinnacle of 
operating efficiency has not been 
reached and improvement in that 
direction will do much toward counter- 
acting losses elsewhere. Carrier divi- 
dends are safe and some roads will in- 
crease their rates and others will offer 
new stock with valuable subscription 
rights. The mail order business will 
probably not be as good, and the copper 
industry may not fare so well. Textiles 
(silks excluded) will probably improve. 
Prosperity will still be with us how- 
ever. Hazarding a guess as to the 
action of the stock market it appears 
as though it would fluctuate irregu- 
larly within a comparatively high 
area during the first six months (per- 
haps establishing new highs) and de- 
cline gradually thereafter. 

The San Franciscan 

li^. _.^illvi 


^_. ^^':'iIi^i]|-^::T^ 

Use your Bank's 
FULL service! 

:ilfi'-^i},i'^ .^•' 






What are 


EVERY man of great responsibilities has used the Trust De- 
partment facilities of his bank in some emergency — perhaps as 
trustee of a corporate bond issue, as an agent for the custody 
of securities, as a fiscal or paying agent or depository. 

Still, few men know, from personal experience, the jull extent of 
usefulness of a Trust Department such as The Anglo's. It can be 
executor or trustee under wills; a trustee of living trusts for the 
benefit of the maker or others, a transfer agent or a guardian, an 
assignee in a receivership, a trustee in escrow transactions. 

A quarter of an hour, some time when you are in The Anglo, can 
almost certainly place you in possession of new knowledge of the 
breadth of modern trust department facilities. It will be a quarter 
of an hour that may some day — perhaps tomorrow — save you days 
or months of personal time and responsibility. 


(Trust Department) 

The San Franciscan 


there is little in the way of obvious 
detail for the censors to lay their 
hands on. The play, however, is 
actually one of high merit and does 
not need to rest upon its scandalous 
implications for its laurels. The cast 
features Miss Helen Menken, who 
played last in Capek's "The Makro- 
pou'los Secret," and who has been 
seen on the West Coast in "Seventh 
Heaven." It might be added that 
those who wish to grasp the more 
subtle details of the play's psychology 
could read "Why We Behave Like 
Human Beings" immediately after see- 
ing the performance. 

* * * 

THE Woods production of "A Wom- 
an in Dispute" has furnished the 
critical theater goers with new. or 
leastways interesting food for thought. 
This concerns the play's beautiful 
star, Ann Harding, and has to do with 
whether or not her obvious beauty 
will actually prevent her reaching 
greatness. Her ability and intelli- 
gence are generally unquestioned, but 
it has been pointed out that great 
beauty has always (in the theatrical 
world) been an obstacle in the road to 
great achievement. The play has a 
war theme and is based on "The 
Boule de Suif," the first great story of 

De Maupassant. 

* * * 

AN interesting combination is offer- 
ed in "The Constant Wife," 
the play being by Somerset Maugham, 
and the star being Ethel Barrymore. 
The Theater Guild's new play "Ned 
McCobb's Daughter," a Sidney How- 
ard comedy, is under way with Clare 
Eames and Alfred Lunt in the cast. 
Cecile Sorel has arrived in New York 
with her French cast, to present a 
series of French plays. Her first, just 
begun, is "Maitresse de Roi," never 
before seen in America. An interest- 
ing point for observation in this series 
will be the interpretation of French 
characters by French persons; this, 
as compared with the usually exagger- 

A Reviewer at Large 

from page 16) 

ated characterization by American 
players. The Henry Fisk Carlton 
play, "Up the Line," is interesting as 
being the last of the plays from Prof. 
Baker's 47 Shop before he left Har- 
vard; and in being the play to intro- 
duce this new American playwright. 
Carlton is a native of the Middle 
West, and spent much time formerly 
with a group of tramps, such as he 
represents in his play. The title refers 
to an expression used in the Middle 

West country and meaning "move on." 

* * * 

C'OR those who contemplate going to 
■*■ Southern California this month or 
next, it will be of interest to have a 
look-in at the Potboiler Art Theater, 
located in the Gamut Club. This 
small, progressive theater has prob- 
ably done more in the way of present- 
ing artistic plays than any theater in 
Los Angeles. From December ISth 
to 18th they will present "Proces- 
sional," a play which ought to have 
interest for all adults; and from Janu- 
ary 13th to ISth they will present 
"The Gay Gnani," a very original 
type of comedy that will likely furnish 

some new and unique slants. 

* * * 

'T'HE Management of the Columbia 
*■ Theater announces that the Man- 
hattan Opera Company will give a 
limited engagement of five perform- 
ances in San Francisco beginning 
December 22nd. The local season will 
be an event, for Aldo Franchetti, the 
composer, will conduct his new Japan- 
ese Opera, "Namico San," with Ta- 
maki Miura in the role she created last 
season with the Chicago Civic Opera 

Other offerings for the Columbia in 
the near future are: "They Knew 
What They Wanted," with Richard 
Bennett; Mordkin's Ballet follows 
early in January; the brilliant Spanish 
actress Maria Guerrero will be seen in 
"La Malquerida"; and Ina Claire will 
be starred in Frederick Lonsdale's 
comedy, "The Last of Mrs. Cheney." 

From San Francisco 

(Continued frnm page 14) 

till long afterwards I learned that this 
was because the native boys invari- 
ably ate up the paste. Managers used 
to tell me to hurry up, speak quicker, 
when I applied for jobs in those days. 
I guess the rhythm of the old cable 
cars on the San Francisco hills had 
gotten into my blood." 

"And you never went back.^" said I, 
registering reproach. 

"Yes, twice — in 1901 I played 

'Stoddard,' a Scotch character part, in 
'The Bonnie Briar Bush,' and in 1908, 
in the company of Francis Wilson, 
touring with 'When Knights Were 
Bold,' we appeared in a shaky old 
building out on Van Ness Avenue, for 
the city was still in the process of rising 
from its ashes. That's eighteen years 
ago!" He seemed appalled, and then 
added, "Do you know, this year for 
{Continued on page 34) 



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5(i I <J lic'luri Jjuildinq 
Q)aii ./lancijco 

The San Franciscan 

H. R. H. Reinhardt 

(Continued from page 1) 

lake or you went to town on an errand 
by any one of half a dozen devious 
paths around the frowning twelfth 
century fortress. Back again for 
luncheon — or, more properly, dinner — 
at which the Prince made his first 
appearance of the day. Rather a late 
and leisurely start, you thought, until 
you heard how far his day went! 

AT this dinner-luncheon, spread in 
^^ one of several charming rooms 
according to the size of the guest list, 
you might meet IMolnar, or Morris 
Gest, or Lady Diana Manners, or 
"The Miracle's" social-lion-author, Dr. 
Karl Vollmoeller, or the young Amer- 
ican artist, Norman-Bel Geddes, who 
had brought his blue prints for "The 
Miracle" all the way to Salzburg, or 
any one of a score of writers or artists 
or social leaders from the ends of the 
earth. Dinner over — and then work.' 
Far from it. At least not the kind of 
work that we Americans mean by the 
term. Instead, adjournment to the 
terrace where you were joined as if by 
magic by a dozen new arrivals. There, 
coflFee — and talk. More coffee and 
more talk. An hour, two hours. A 
telephone call now and then to inter- 
rupt, but not seriously. So might the 
archbishop's nephew have entertained 
his knighted friends — with coffee and 
talk, the talk that means more to an 
Austrian than motion pictures to an 
American. And yet, a shrewd ear could 
detect momentous and formidable 
plans shaping themselves in one snatch 
of conversation. 

Supper and the evening, though, 
were the peak of the day. It was then 
that Reinhardt drew round himself 

that broader, more cosmopolitan court, 
not just his cronies and intimate fellow- 
craftsmen as at dinner, handed them 
up the massive marble staircase to the 
Marble Hall, ranged them at one 
great table or round a bevy of small 
ones, as his mood dictated, and later 
regaled them with Mozart in Mozart's 
home at the bow-tips of the Rose 
Quartet. Lingering to the last, you 
could detect a certain restlessness in 
your host. For the Prince's workday 
was about to begin — at twelve or one 
or two A. M. And from then on till 
daylight, he would spend arduous 
hours with his secretary, pinning 
grandiose dreams of beauty down to 
facts, figures and blue prints. 

T HA\ E often wondered what was the 
secret of the life lived in the castles 
of Europe that are now the museum- 
haunts of the traveler. Not only Ver- 
sailles and Fontainebleau but the score 
of less grandiose but still grand edi- 
fices that dot the map from the Loire 
to the Danube. I think H. R. H. 
Reinhardt has unlocked the secret. I 
am convinced now that the grands 
seigneurs of other centuries were master 
theatrical producers who missed their 
calling. Or, shall we say, who dis- 
dained to put a commercial price on 
their calling, reserving its expression 
for a chosen audience. 

No one can watch Reinhardt play 
with his lights in devising new atmos- 
pheres for new suppers and new musi- 
cales without realizing why he is fasci- 
nated by the idea of living in and of 
living up to a baronial castle. The 
host supreme is the stage director. 

That Man Mencken 

(Continued from page 10) 

moods alternate. He will take a drink 
and afterwards criticize it on scien- 
tific grounds. He likes wines. He 
likes anything that makes a man more 
sociable, more fertile in feeling and 
thought. He likes women. Perhaps 
he likes a woman more for the charm 
of her voice than her coloring. 

In Athens and Florence at its 
zenith in the Middle Ages, in Munich 
even in recent times, and other magical 
cities — Mencken would be happy. True 
civilization, he says, develops in cities 
of quality. This quality Mencken 
finds in San Francisco. Here a num- 
ber of excellent families have main- 
tained a high level of fine tastes — they 
know the art of living, gaily, shrewdly. 

sumptuously, daringly. But if the 
realtors — the boosters — ever got con- 
trol of this city, then, jVIencken fears, 
"San Francisco too will become a 
wilderness of apes — vast hordes of half 
proletarians, scratching the earth for 
grains like the barnyard fowl. That'd 
be a tragedy." His parting words 
were: "Keep San Francisco's popula- 
tion limited. Maintain your quality. 
Don't increase the hordes here. The 
realtors, the boosters, ruined our 
lovely Baltimore. They may do the 
same here. Then, where would be the 
difference between San Francisco and 
Los Angeles.' I say, put a China wall 
between the two cities. And in your 
towers, place at least 12-inch guns." 


224 Grant Avenue 
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The San Franciscan 

The Amazon Invasion 

{Continued from page 24) 

for an extinct animal. The animal did 
once exist. Thomas Beer relates in 
his biography of Stephen Crane how 
Frances Willard wrote to the editor 
of the Century, objecting to the publi- 
cation of a certain story in "a maga- 
zine read by Christian women." He 
also tells how the editor of the same 
periodical rejected Crane's story, "The 
Monster," saying, "We couldn't pub- 
lish that thing with half the expectant 
mothers in America on our subscrip- 
tion list!" Nowadays women exert 
no censorship either with leference to 
their Christianity or their prospects of 

Only recently a critic blandly as- 
serted that "Tristram Shandy" was 
not a book for women — that in fact he 
had met only one woman in his life 
who "confessed to having read it." 
Well, it was longer ago than I care to 
record outside of "Who's Who" that 
"Tristram Shandy" was in the pre- 
scribed list of reading in a novel course 
at an exclusively feminine resort of 
learning; and quite a number of us fell 
so far under the spell as to write all 
our daily themes in what we fondly 
imagined was the manner of Laurence 

All the alarmists need to do for re- 
storation of their peace of mind is to 
sit tight. They will, if they keep their 
eyes open, "learn about women from 
'er." And they will find that she looks 
remarkably like a human being. 

1. The Women of the Family, by Margaret Culkin 
Banning. New York: Harper and Brothers. 

2. Three Women, by Faith Baldwin. New York: 
Dodd, Mead and Company. 

3. Susan Shane, by Roger Burlingame. New York: 
Charles Scribner's Sons. 

Meanwhile in Manhattan 

{Continued from page 17) 

a few compromising words uttered by a 
damsel in the hearing of her fiance. 
Alice Brady in "The Witch" (Scandi- 
navian origin), opening this week at 
the Greenwich \'illage, again emotes 
as a minister's wife. Like the case of 
the luckless clergyman in "The Bride 
of the Lamb," her last season's suc- 
cess, the gentleman's sudden demise 
provides the major thrill in a gruesome 






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The San Franciscan 

One of Our Moderns 

(Coiiliviied from Page 25) 

ings and speaks of harmonies that he 
hears as he paints. 

Whatever the mechanism, the re- 
sults approach the studied design that 
forms the backbone of all true art and, 
whatever the method, the end would 
seem to point toward a productive 


* * * 

AT present, Yun is dominated by 
■^ the ideal of the futurists. He 
conceives form as crystalline. He sees 
in surfaces not their own colors but 
the colors they reflect. Thus his 
"Venus — Blue Body" becomes a series 
of facets reflecting cold or warm light 
according to the plane each represents. 
The structure so achieved becomes in- 
telligible and meaningful. 

So, too, his "Sunday Morning" re- 
solves itself, from being merely a pleas- 
ing pattern of color, into an interpre- 
tive study of figures on a park bench. 
.'\nd subtly but surely he has caught 
the emotional tone, the dull repose of 
the bench habitues. 

"1V/I'\" Impression of the Christ" was 
■^ shown first in the group exhibit, 
along with the work of the nine other 
young artists who are sponsoring the 
Modern Gallery. It was heralded by 
the press as a synthetic representation. 
Some contended that it gave three 
aspects of the personality and labeled 
them respectively, Santa Claus, 
Shakespeare, and the conventional 
Christ. Yun disclaims any such intent, 
saying that the succession of heads in 
the composite picture is his way of 
showing vital movement, as he does 
not think of the Christ as ever static. 

Visitors at the Gallery read cynicism 
and disillusionment into the painting 
but Yun approaches it reverently, 
almost worshipfully, for the coming of 
Christianity into his life was a momen- 
tous thing. He says that his first de- 
sire to paint came when, as a child, he 
wanted to make a picture of the 

Yun claims to belong to no "school" 
of art. He attributes his art to no 
teacher or external influence. He 
would have us believe that he paints 
what he sees the way that he feels it — 
as a child would put down his impres- 
sions. He would have us feel with 
him the "rhythm" o his heart. 

,'\nd we smile — not unkindly nor in 
ridicule but merely because we remem- 
ber — and we wonder what maturity 
will bring. 

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married only a year, you know. 

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tension Telephone. You're wearing yourself out, run- 
ning up and down stairs and from room to room every 
time the telephone rings. I never realized before how 
much a woman will put up with without complaining. 
I wouldn't stand for it a minute in my office.' " (Well- 
ford's Inc. was a ?nodel office.) 
"And so?" said her visitor. 
"There it is," said Sally proudly. 
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The San Franciscan 


An Eastern Point of Mew 

{Continued from page 12} 

all. The wind of allegory which blows 
lightly and warmly through the play. 
is the most delightful and the most 
admirable part of his work. Not be- 
cause it is allegory but because it is so 
nicely treated. He depicts the pass- 
ing away of the old England, as if he 
were opening golden doors and softly 
resting a steel casket in a vault of 
cloud. And as a last tribute to those 
noble departed, before the casket is 
lowered, he points out that ever in the 
future we must live in their past; that 
the souls within us are the souls of 
those gone, who have dwelt and striven 
in painful places, that we others might 
endure. That is what he really tells 
us, though few seem to have caught 
those effects; and yet without those 
effects, there is nothing whatever left 
of his artistry. 

Young L.adv: But what else should 
the play have, to get that touch of 
real life.' Should things be shown just 
as they are.' 

Critic: No genuine artist merely 
sees things as they are; if he did he 
would not be an artist, but a reporter. 
But my dear friend — {he looks at his 
tcatch) — I have already stayed longer 
than I should. Can't we continue our 
discussion another time — won't you 
honor me again on some occasion soon." 

Young L.\dy: Oh, I would love to. 
{She had an exquisite smile.) 

Critic: Well then — {the waiter en- 
ters and presents the check; the critic 
looks at it casually, then suddenly very 
carefully. He is not able to say more.) 


From San Francisco 

(Continued from page 30) 

the first time, I have been actually 
homesick for it all out there. Can it 
be that I am getting old.'" 

I picked up my cue with emphasis. 
"No," said I. "But eighteen years is 
a long time — to be away from San 
Francisco. Why not bring something 
out from Broadway — and soon?" 

He promised to consider this — and I 
came away with the feeling that he 
meant it, that it was not just a "line." 

'TPHE Editor wishes to announce that 
due to a misunderstanding the 
name of Ex-Senator James D. Phelan 
was used as Chairman of the Board of 
Contributing Editors in the November 
issue without approval. 

Smart Shops 


Smart People 

Scientific Colrses: 

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Needs of the skin 

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Garfield 234 
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1927 Drive 

January 31st to February 10th 

"Make San Francisco the Happiest City 
in the World' 

The San Franciscan 

"Out West 
where they ask you to breakfast, 

I tasted a marvelous coffee" 

THE whole-souled hospitality 
of the West and "that wonder- 
ful western coffee" are invariably 
mentioned in the same breath by 
travelers returning East and abroad. 
The people they met . . . the 
coffee they drank— these are lasting 

It is not strange, therefore, that 
from the East and abroad come 
orders for Hills Bros. Coffee, You 
understand their enthusiasm the 
instant you puncture the vacuum 
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Jewelers and Silversmiths 



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City State 



Joseph Dyer, Editor and Publisher 
William A. Flanagan, Associate Editor E. Swift Train, Business Manager 

Anthony Page, Associate Editor C. D. Thornton, Asst. Business Manager 

Contributing Editors 

Charles Caldwell Dobie Mollie Merrick 

Idwal Joxes Anita Day Hubbard 

George Douglas IMarie H. Richards 

Ivan Alexander Rowena jVIason 

Contents for January, 1927 

rol. I No. 3 

Fragments of the Nineties - - - - -7 

Personality and Comment - - ~ - S 

Stories That I Didn't Write. By Mollie Merrick - 10 

The Rendezvous. By Rowena Mason - - 12 

Imported from San Francisco. By Ivan Alexander - 13 

Lucia Looks In - - - - - -1-1 

Meanwhile in Manhattan - - - - - lO 

Bilitis and Jean. By Antonia Pia - - -17 

The Reigning Dynasty - - - - - /? 

Franciscan Vignettes. By Owen Francis - - 22 

Soigne. By Buchatov - - - - -23 

The Bookstall. By fVilliam A. Flanagan - - 24 

Where Are We Dancing To. By Theodore Kosloff - 25 

Winter Sports in California. By Mori J. Donoghue 26 

Investments vs. Unfinished Business. By R. B. F. 
Randolph - - - - - - - 2S 

The San Franciscan is published monthly by The San Franciscan Publishing Company, Sharon Building, 

San Francisco, California, Telephone Douglas 3610. Subscription Price, one year $2.S0. Single copies 25 cents. 

Copyrighted 1926 by the San Franciscan Publishing Co. 

The San Franciscan 



Reproduced f r o m the 
original etching by Wer- 
ner B. Drewes. the bril- 
liant young German art- 
ist. During his brief 
stay in San Francisco 
Drewes made a number 
of etchings for The San 
l*"ranciscan, whicli will 
appear in forthcoming 
numbers. — (Copyrighted 
bv The San Franciscan, 



Fragments of the Nineties 

wherein Are Wafted the Faint Pungence of Rose-Geranium and Lavender 

I EDITOR'S NOTE. At a recent private sale in 
New York City the correspondent of THE SAN 
FRANCISCAN bought a package of letters post- 
marked "San Francisco" and dated from 1890 to 
1908. The letters, written by a prominent "Beau," 
are a vivid and intimate social chronicle of San 
Francisco during the gay nineties. These letters 
will be published in THE SAN FRANCISCAN 
from time to time.) 

Sax Fr.vncisco, C.^l., 

October 31. 1890. 
Mr. Horace . Esq.. 

Astor House, 

New York City, X. Y. 
My dear Horace: 

So you are at last ensconced in the 
great metropolis for the winter. How 
lonesome you must feel with the sea- 
son approaching with its promise of 
brilliant functions. However, my dear 
Horace, I shall endeavor to keep you 
reliably informed of the social gossip 
in an effort to bring you some joy in 
3'our temporary exile. You know, m}' 
dear fellow, that should your work in 
New York be successful, your future 
here is assured. This should serve to 
overcome any temptations that you 
may have to return to San Francisco 
to partake in the social whirl of the 

The invasion of San Francisco by 
the Kings, Queens, Princes, and Prin- 
cesses of the Kingdom of Society has 
begun. They come in legions, my 
dear Horace, from the south, the west, 
the north, and the east. Fresh from a 
summer of inactivity they swoop down 
on the city like a host of conquerors 
returning to the field of their past vic- 
tories. Those that I have talked with 
are anticipating a season of unusual 


* * * 

X/fY dear Horace, I have reached a 

stage of belief that the idiosyn- 

cracies of the wealthy at times go to 

alarming extremes. Your very good 

friend, Mrs. J. R. Whitney, has 
brought on this conclusion. The dear 
lady has returned from her Japanese 
travels possessing a jinrickisha and a 
Jap to pull it. Gossip seems at a loss 
to know whether she intends to revo- 
lutionize San Francisco transporta- 
tion or install the contraption in some 
museum. She has temporarily solved 
the question by taking both man and 
vehicle to her Los Gatos ranch. Inti- 
mate friends are thankful that Mrs. 
\\hitney did not include India in her 
itinerary where, it is generally under- 
stood, elephants are the mode of 

However, regardless of her new fad, 
the lady is a dear. Had quite a visit 
with her a few nights ago at the 
Baldwin Theater where the Carleton 
Company was showing "Ninon." She 
was very solicitous regarding your 
health and business affairs. She is 
truly a friend of yours. Speaking of 
the theater reminds me of the degen- 
erate state that the Eastern stage must 
be in. The journals carried an ac- 
count of the Park Theater in Boston 
being closed by Mayor Hart of that 
city. Can such a thing be true.' The 
journal staled that the leading lady, 
through the employment of tight- 
fitting clothes, actually impersonated 
the nude and that the love scene in the 
last act was so impassioned that a 
civic committee brought the play to 
the Mayor's attention. The play, I 
believe, is called "The Clemenceau 
Case." A play with such impassioned 
scenes would undoubtedly prove most 
interesting to us bachelors but I can 
well imagine the wrath of married men 
whose wives attend such a play in 
ignorance of its character. 

T MOST sincerely regret, Horace, your 
inabilit}- to be here for Betty Fol- 
ger's wedding. It was, of course, as 
you predicted, the affair of the month 
and took place on the eighth. In giv- 
ing you an idea of those present it is 
perhaps easier by saying everyone of 
our circle. Thej' were married at St. 
Paul's in Oakland by the Reverend 
Robert Richie. Jimmie gave his sis- 
ter away, while Ernest Folger served 
as best man for LeGrand. In short, 
the wedding was quite Folger in its 
entirety. The church was wonderfully 
decorated and was exceeded in beauty 
only by the bride. I understand that 
the Tibbitts will leave shortly for New- 
York where they will live, so you will 
undoubtedly have the opportunity of 
congratulating them. After the wed- 
ding the party returned to San Fran- 
cisco and a reception was held at the 
Folger home on Jackson Street. About 
sixty intimate friends and relatives 
were there. Guy Phelps and I looked 
in for a short time. Guy's wife has 
gone to Santa Barbara for a week or 
two, so as a lonely benedict he has 
found it necessary to seek my com- 

Guy and I went to hear the Carle- 
ton Opera Company sing "The Mi- 
kado" a few nights ago at the Baldwin 
Tiieater. The Timothy Paiges and 
the Louis Monteagles had a box. I 
saw Louis in the foyer during an inter- 
mission and he said that they had a 
delightful summer at Blythedale. Both 
families were there together — the 
Paiges and the Monteagles. They 
were there for the entire summer, 
which would have proven too long a 
siege for me. In my estimation the 

(ConlinutJ on page i\) 

The San Franciscan 


Personality and Comment 

A Resume of Events Intimate and Otherwise Worthy of Mention 



WITNESS the fuss we have 
made for weeks over the 
royalty and nobility we have 
had in our midst. When has the San 
Francisco Center had such a crush of 
women eager to see the flower of 
chivalry and the pomp of power as on 
the occasion when the Princess Achille 
Murat addressed its luncheon a week 
or so ago at the St. Francis hotel.' Or 
when it billed the tall and stately and 
languid Lady Diana Manners a few 
daj's later.'' Not since the memorable 
visit of the King and Queen of Bel- 
gium and the epic luncheon at which 
a newspaper photographer shouted at 
the lovely queen when she raised her 
hand in a gesture of appreciation of 
American hospitality, to "hold that 
pose, Queen." 

Publicists, pacifists, leaders of 
thought, reformers and iconoclasts, 
national figures of one kind or another, 
college presidents, candidates for polit- 
ical office, and ballyhoos have been 
presented by the "Center" but the 
ballroom never bulged as did that well- 
known "Colonial" room when the 
Princess Murat was the lodestar. Now 
the Princess is a nice enough person, 
young and pretty and clever and 
canny. Her prince, too, is not 'arf. 

But why the fussr 

They were quite frankly here for 
the perquisites of opportunity. They 
have traveled in Indo-China and in 
the course of their perigrinations were 
inspired to become cicerones to tender- 
feet who might want to travel thither. 
So they advertised in Paris papers 
that thej^ would personally superin- 
tend parties who wanted to see that 
far-off country under the most auspi- 
cious circumstances. Of course any 
who had the money to travel at all 
had enough to travel well. Hence the 
profit to the noble Baedeckers. Then 
they decided to come to America and 
see what others of their class had 
found so seductive over here. The 
princess makes no secret of the fact 
that she is going to write us up. Also 
it has been publicly stated that she is 
an official correspondent of the Asso- 
ciated Press. So, by and large, it is a 
safe bet that the bank roll of the Murat 
family will not shrink from withdrawal 
of funds with which to tour America 
and Indo-China. Now no one even 
presumes to indict the princess. That 

were Us nobiliiie. But we do pride 
ourselves upon the fact that we are 
"a democratic people?" 

The Lady Diana drew eight hundred 
women to the luncheon at the Center. 
The hotel threw the Colonial and 
Italian ballrooms together and placed 
tables in the boxes off the mezzanine 
floor. And still the capacity was but 
six hundred. But eight hundred were 
fed, just the same. (See parable of 
loaves and fishes.) Miss Ruth Turner, 
president of the Center, exclaimed to 
the tall lad\' with the huntress's name: 
"Oh, Lady Diana, you are just as 
lovely as your pictures, and much 
more beautiful even than in your 
Madonna robes." To which the 
daughter-in-law of Lady Duff Gordon 
replied, "Oh, I look like Hell today, 
I'm afraid." But she didn't. Unless 
Hell is remarkably unlike it has been 
pictured. She was altogether charm- 
ing and gracious, probably a little 
bored by so much adulation, and self- 
possessed to a degree. \ ery likely 
because she had been assured that she 
would not be called upon to speak. 
The speaking was done by Everett 
Glass. At least that part of the 
speaking which was not of, for and 
by "Miracle" stars, producers, authors, 
or press agents. 


C\S. New Year's day Mr. Howard, who 
^"^ is now seen frequently at literary 
places about town, was walking down 
Post Street near the Crocker National 
Bank, with his friend and guest, Mr. 
Hutchinson from over in the valley. 
Mr. Hutchinson had been chiding (as 
visitors will) about the quietness of 
San Francisco. "This day-time quiet 
may be beautiful and dignified," said 
the visitor, "but I don't like it. What 
I like in a city is a little excite- 
ment, a thrill unexpectedly, plenty of 
noise!" At that moment there was a 
terrific bang, which shook all the 
buildings for a block around, and 
caused pedestrians to anxiously duck 
their heads. Hutchinson himself was 
tumbled to the ground amidst a rain 
of glass from the store and office build- 
ings. When the smoke cleared away 
it was discovered that both gentlemen 
were only slightly cut, though greatly 
startled. A policeman said some ter- 
rorist had hurled a bomb, though it 
was found later to have been a gas 

explosion in the bank. \'isitors to San 
Francisco are seldom disappointed, no 
matter how^ unusual their requests. 

* * * 

TF the Princess Murat keeps her 
promise about writing that book 
it is devoutly to be hoped that she 
will not emulate Claire Sheridan, who 
came here a few years ago from Eng- 
land, was wined and feted, driven 
about in our most expensive cars, and 
given our subtlest and most sugar- 
coated publicity. She went away and 
mentioned names in her book which 
laid our glaring crudities quivering to 
the rude world. 

* * * 

tpR'E officers from the Dutch battle- 
ship Sumatra were arrested Sun- 
day, January 2nd, for over-stepping 
the speed limit while enjoying the 
Peninsula beauties near Burlingame. 
Being haled before Judge Gaffney 
they were each fined fifteen dollars, in 
spite of the fact it was their last day 
(at least for a while) on American 
soil. We understand that several per- 
sons owning automobiles have stated 
before now that Judge Gaffney cer- 
tainly does beat the Dutch. 

* * * 

pRINCE Yashito Chichibu, second 
son of the late Emperor Yoshohito, 
and heir-apparent to the Japanese 
throne, was in San Francisco for a 
short time the second of the month, 
on his way back to Japan from Eng- 
land where he had attended Oxford 
college. Owing to the recent death of 
his father the prince was in mourning 
and all festivities were cancelled. It 
was observed that the prince was 
dressed in natty and very complete 
English attire, and we wonder if the 
Oxford ideas made as much impres- 
sion on him as the Oxford clothes. 

* * * 

/^NE of the most advanced de- 
^^^ signers of women's apparel on 
the West Coast has apparently taken 
a hint from the prediction made in 
Forum by Paul Poiret. Poiret pre- 
dicted that in the not far off future 
the ever shortening skirts would dis- 
appear entirely, possibly to be re- 
placed by attractive panties. We 
have discovered that he is already 
creating one of these new models. 
But we particularly want to know 
who is the woman that is to first 
demonstrate this model on the streets. 
And when and where will it be done.' 

The San Franciscan 


TF we can believe the trend of talk 
in the more discriminating circles, 
the general program of plays offered 
to the San Franciscan during the 
holiday season has been nothing to 
brag about. And far from hurting 
the local theaters the stupendous 
Miracle Play has saved them. At 
holiday time everyone wants to at- 
tend the shows, and San Francisco 
receives thousands of visitors from 
this vicinity and from the valley and 
the south. Those who came this 
holiday-time would have been dis- 
appointed in what we furnished them 
had it not been for the Miracle Play. 

The \\'ilkes Theater offered "Queen 
High." E\'en had the comedy been 
of the very best the idea of featuring 
Kolb and Dill was enough to queer it 
for all save the greenhorns. Even the 
backwoodsman from Crescent City 
has got on to them. 

The Curran, another leading thea- 
ter, offered "Blossom Time." Perhaps 
they believe all things are good that 
are old and that once had a reputa- 
tion. We remind them of Vice-Presi- 
dent Dawes. We find a great deal of 
adverse criticism of this play by people 
with musical ears. Singing off the 
key, even when singing old songs, is 
not quite the form the genuine San 
Franciscan admirers, reporters who 
don't know music notwithstanding. 
It is also significant that this same 
criticism was generally passed upon 
"Blossom Time" when it showed in 
Sacramento. And the cast, which 
some of the reporters have called the 
best seen here in years, is actually a 
cast that had to be supplied at the 
last minute, according to reports from 
other cities, including "back East" 
where they came from. 

In the case of the Columbia where 
Bennett has been playing in "They 
Knew What They Wanted," and the 
Alcazar where "The Home Towners" 
has been going, some excuse can be 
offered. But "The Home Towners" 
might conveniently have been shifted 
to the President Theater in place of 
"The Little Spitfire," which should 
have been left in its grave; and the 
Alcazar could then have presented a 
better class of play, more in keeping 
with some they have done in the 
past. The theater managers tell us 
that, from their standpoint, it is neces- 
sary to please all kinds of taste. Yes, 
all kinds of taste, but not all kinds of 
lack of taste. We think the taste of 
the more civilized San Franciscan, 

who prefers going to the better thea- 
ters, is more important than the taste 
of the San Franciscan who attends 
the President. Pantages, and the 

* * * 


'TpHERE are two women here at the 
moment who were much in the lime- 
light twenty years ago, and the won- 
der grows how they have so success- 
fully defied woman's greatest enemies, 
Old Father Time and Old Mother 
Nature. The women are Airs. Marie 
Wells Hanna and the Duchess of 
Mecklenberg. The Duchess of Meck- 
lenberg came from Europe to attend 
the wedding of her son, Charles Oel- 
richs Martin, and Miss Caroline Madi- 
son. Now when one has a marriagablc 
son there isn't much use trying to dis- 
semble or to conceal one's age. No 
matter how young one was when he 
was born one must be at least thirty- 
seven. Well, many a woman of thirty- 
sev'en would covet the face of the 
Duchess. Her figure is a trifle more 
portly than of yore in those golden 
years when she was no wider than 
Lady Diana Manners is at the moment, 
but what are a few pounds in Ger- 
many where they like their women 
"comfortable".'' Mrs. Hanna came 
from New York to spend Christmas 
with her mother, Mrs. George Wells. 
She is slim and blonde and terribly 
cultured and clever. Knows all about 
the latest books and plays on Broad- 
way. Knows even the people who 
write the books and act the plays. 
She and Elsie Arden made an excellent 
pair of foils, each for the other, at a 
dinner given by Noel Sullivan the 
other night at Iiis home in Hyde 

Which calls for a word about Noel 
Sullivan's house. It is as near a 
salon as any house in San Francisco, 
for Noel has lived in Paris and knows 
his stuff when it comes to art and 
music and drama and all that sort of 
thing. He and Willie Gwin and Henri 
Deering have been doing the town 
these last few weeks. Like the raking 
trio on the ad of Pall Mall cigarettes, 
they never seem to have time to get 
out of evening dress. They were 
together in Paris not so long ago and 
music is the tie which binds them. 
Gwin is home for his annual visit to 
his sister, Mrs. Kenneth Kingsbur\-, 
and his parents, Mr. and Mrs. William 
Gwin. Deering is here on a concert 
tour. Noel is here because he likes us. 
And we like him. 


|NE of the brides of next month 
recently gave a party, 'tis said, 
at which she awarded a prize of a 
gold mesh bag to the girl (the guests 
were all girls) who told the choicest 
Rabelaisan story. Why not.' The 
bridegroom-elect was never criticised 
for the dinner at which he said fare- 
well to bachelorhood. And the stories 
at those dinners were not always 
Sunday-school tracts, were they.' Why 
not permit the girls their bed-time 


"VTOW that the "little theater" move- 
ment of San Francisco has been 
seriously injured by the fire which 
destroyed the Players Guild theater a 
few weeks ago, what will be done to 
reconstruct our necessary tribute to 
the drama.'' 

San Francisco has shown keen in- 
terest in both music and the fine arts. 
Will she give this interest to the 
drama? It will not be long however, 
before we shall see how well she can 
hold her own as a patron of this im- 
perative art. Her patronage hereto- 
fore has never been over-extravagant. 
The Players' Guild has never enjoyed 
a superfluous income, but through the 
enthusiastic work of its active mem- 
bers and regular attendance of an ap- 
preciative audience has successfully, 
though scarcely, maintained itself. Los 
Angeles boasts of more than one such 
organization. Santa Barbara main- 
tains a little theater which is fairly 
well known throughout the eastern 
states. We also have a movement in 
Berkeley, Calif., under the direction of 
Mr. Irving Pichel, another at Stanford 
University, as well as one at University 
of California, and still another similar 
plan is being shaped at Palo Alto. 
Calif. It must be acknowledged that 
in this work San Francisco is behind 
Los Angeles and, of course, many of 
the eastern cities. The drama is par- 
ticularly well patronized throughout 
the East. People in general, whether 
talented or not, take full interest in 
the destiny of our American drama — 
the salvation of which is the "little 

The question stands, now that the 
opportunity has offered itself, will San 
Francisco join the army of "little 
theaters" to promote good drama? 
Will the ably financial citizens con- 
tribute a new temple in which those 
who take active part can do their bit 
by giving their time and working 
hard to preserve the best of an age- 
old institution? 

The San Franciscan 

Stories That I Didn't Write 

Unpublished Disclosures of a Music Critic 



The greatest musician of them 
all was answering the last few 
questions of a group interview. Al- 
ready the "gentlemen of the press" 
had risen to go. They stood about, a 
trifle ill at ease, puffing from time to 
time on the Egyptian cigarettes with 
the artist's monogram on them, which 
had been passed from time to time. A 
moment hence they would relax, drift 
down the hallway to the elevators in 
congenial clots, puffing heartily on 
their own particular brand. 

In a corner sat a girl working fever- 
ishly over a sketchboard — drawing in, 
erasing, drawing in again — a baffied, 
futile look in her eyes when they rested 
on her subject. She rose, tried to edge 
out with the first stragglers. 

Fritz Kreisler, who has not spoken 
to her since the sketch was begun, 
puts out his hand to the drawing- 
board. She turns the work for him to 
see. A dough man with currant eyes 
and a black toothbrush on the upper 

"Sol you enjoy sketching?" 

She nods, the color of a tomato, and 
darts out. 

It is my turn to go. He holds out a 
hand. "Of course you are coming to 
the concert tomorrow.'" 

"I can scarcely wait," I stammer. 
"Just think, Mr. Kreisler — I have 
never heard you play. I have all the 
records; I know them almost by heart. 
More than anything else in the world 
I have wanted to hear you — play!" 

Celtic enthusiasm, frankly emo- 
tional; it is the sort of thing one is 
ashamed of later. But it strikes a 

The greatest musician of them all 
draws a bit to one side, out of earshot 
of the others. 

"I am sorry, since you have so an- 
ticipated it, that you hear me tomor- 
row for the first time. It will not be 
the Kreisler that played twenty years 
ago. There have been such hideous 
moments — the war — the suffering of 
my people — a world in agony! A 
musician's soul is sensitive to such 
things . ." 

"But I thought sorrow deepened art, 
was art's most precious gift , . . " 

Fritz Kreisler smiles slowly: "In 
youth it is the priceless boon to art. 
^\ hen one is young sadness is wine — 
it gives poignant coloring to a picture 
that might otherwise be insipidly gay. 
In middle age beauty no longer stabs 

like a sword — poignance leaves it 

then. One becomes philosophical — 

resigned — where in youth we rebelled 

with a fierce, fine glory of tone. To 

me, life is dust and ashes. I can give 

\'ou the same broad bow, I can give 

you the technique of the years, I can 

give you better music than that young 

Kreisler, in the sense of sheer musical 

taste. But I have lost the fine, free, 

wild beauty that I would have had 

you hear. Remember that tomorrow." 

He held out his hand. "We may not 

meet again, my child; good luck." 

The written interview was rigid, 

banal, commonplace — hard as the lead 

in which it was cast. The real story 

was my own. 

* * * 

*-^ Impeccable he stands before the 
audience, flawlessly poised — a slim, 
svelte figure in black who lifts his 
violin to his shoulder with patrician 

He plays as if from hidden magic of 
unfailing power. His face is a fine 
oval mask unbroken by a smile. 

This same Heifetz is translated to 
the drawing-room. Serious, elegant 
to the smallest detail, he combines 
something of the elements of a Brum- 
mel, a Chesterfield, a Nash. He 
would seem to have been born old — 
this youth of twenty-eight years, and 
spontaneous joy would seem to have 
been left out of his reckoning. 

To a few — that random few whose 
personalities possess the power to free 
the youth that is enchained within 
him — is given opportunity to glimpse 
the boy hidden awa\' within that 
polished shell. 

We are talking of my Irish grand- 
father and the pranks we played as 

"Tell me more," cries Heifetz, his 
eyes alight, his cheeks suddenly losing 
their pallid indifference. "What fun! 
Just think; you played all 
you wanted to!" His smile dies out. 
"I had a violin when I was three. I 
gave concerts when I was five years. 
At seven. I was a wage-earner of con- 
sequence. It is hard for you to 
imagine that — you, who played 
through a gay childhood." 

"What do you suppose is my great- 
est dissipation when the season is over 
and I go to my camp.' I begin to 
grow fingernails on my left hand. You 
see, other people have had them all 
their li\es. But I have never had 

them — not since I can remember. 
How I watch them begin to grow. 
With what pride I coax them along, 
always hoping that they will reach 
normal size before the winter's prac- 
tice work begins." He shrugs — "But 
I never have time enough to let them 
grow all the way out. Some day I am 
going to make a sacrifice to art: I 
shall have fingernails on the left hand, 
come what may." 

Another time: "Everything is so 
easy for you," I say; "what is to be- 
come of you in future years.'"' 

"Everything is not so easy as you 
think," says Josh. "I struggle with a 
concerto behind closed doors. I fume 
and rage and tear; I curse in seven 
different languages; but I never ap- 
pear before the footlights until I am 
master of that work. I do not like to 
see practising done on the stage; it is 
execrable taste." 

And still again: A dinner party of 
some eight or ten persons. Josh is 
making a speech — a funny speech in 
which he caricatures the sort of thing 
usually wished upon genius at formal 
functions. The table is in roars of 
laughter. Heifetz, bright eyed, laugh- 
ing, is giving a priceless travesty. 

"Mooney!" His manager speaks 
the strange word with a peculiarly 
significant tone. It acts like magic on 
the youthful genius. He smiles, puts 
down his glass and resumes the usual 
dinner-table conversation. 

Naturally there is a question in my 
eyes when he turns to me. 

"That is an arrangement between 
us," Heifetz explains, "to warn me 
that I am becoming overly silly. 
Sometimes I realize that I am twenty- 

"It seems a shame," I interject 
hotly, "to kill your spontaneity." 

There is a touch of wistfulness in 
his smile as he answers: "It does seem 
that way. I meet so many people 
that I like — so few that I can be fluent 
with — one in ten million to whom I 
can open up my entire nature. It 
takes me so long to get silly, and just 
when I am enjoying myself, I must be 
reminded that I am a public character 
— that I belong to the world." 

Some people drift over from a near- 
by table and are introduced. Heifetz 
rises, his face once more the indifferent 
mask — courteous, polished, impecca- 
ble. The shell of glass has closed 
about him once again. 

The San Franciscan 


The Spanish Prima Donna zcho comes to San Francisco this month zcilh 
Chaliapin in " The Barber of Senile " 

The San Franciscan 

The Rendezvous 

Sydney Warring 
Richard Grey 

Time — About nine o'clock on 
a stormy night 

SCENE: Grey's bachelor apartment. 
The curtain rises showing the liv- 
ing-room of a man's apartment. 
It is richly furnished. While there are 
the unmistakable earmarks of the in- 
terior decorator, it is none the less a 
room in which a man lives and enjoys 
the good things of life. 

At center back is a great French win- 
dow. A door to the right leads to the 
outer hall, one at the left to an inner 
room. A fireplace at right, flanked by 
books, before it a small black satin 
divan and a high-backed needle point 
chair. The divan is placed at a?i angle 
while the chair's back is to the audience. 
At left a flat-topped rosezvood desk on 
which stands the photograph of a woman, 
and a low bowl of roses. There is a fat, 
deep chair beside which stands a read- 
ing lamp, smoking stand, and small 
red lacquer table holding hooks. 

Drake, a man servant is adjusting 
the reading lamp beside the chair as 
Richard Grey comes from the inner 
room. He is %n a dressing gown, a man 
of about forty years of age. The door 
behind -him bangs. There is a sound of 
wind outside. Rain beats against the 

Grey: It's going to be a bad night, 

Drake: Yes, sir. 

{Gray goes to the window and looks 
out. The zvind howls. The rain thun- 
ders against the pane. The door into 
the inner room swings open and bangs 
shut again.) 

Grey: I was going out, but I don't 
think I'll brave that torrent. Lord, 
what a wind. {He goes over to the fire- 
place and holds out his hands.) No 
place like home on a night like this. 

Drake: No, sir. 

Grey: You needn't stay up tonight, 
Drake. I don't think anyone will call 
on such a night. 

Drake: But the fire, sir? 

Grey: I'll look out for it. Besides, 
I've just a bit in my book and then I'm 
going to turn in early. 

Drake: \'ery well, sir, I'll lock up. 

{Drake goes itito inner room. Richard 
Grey settles himself in the big chair by 
the lamp. Drake returns, pulls a cur- 
tain across the window, locks the door 


off the outer hall; as he returns the tele- 
phone rings. He anszvers it.) 

Drake: Hello. {There is a pause, 
then again:) Hello! {Another pause. 
He rattles the receiver. Then:) You 
rang our bell, operator. {After a min- 
ute he hangs up the phone.) Someone 
trying to get you, sir, but the operator 
says she can't seem to make connec- 
tions. She'll call again. 

Grey : There'll be a lot of wires down 
from this storm, I'll wager. 

Drake: I'll wait up until the call 
comes through. 

Grey: No need of that, Drake. I'll 
take care of it. Good night, Drake. 

Drake: Good night, sir. {He crosses 
the room; as he reaches the door Richard 
Grey turns:) 

Grey: Oh, Drake, switch off the 
lights. I'll only need this one. 

{Drake presses the light button. The 
stage is thrown into darkness save for 
the one spot of warm amber light cast 
by the reading lamp, which circles the 
chair. Drake exits. Richard Grey 
turns the pages of his book. The phone 
rings. He gets up and picks up the re- 

Grey: Hello. {A long pause; then:) 
Hello, hello, central. This is 1109 
you just rang. You . . . What.^ 
Oh! Well, could you trace the call.' I 
see. Thank you. {He hangs up the 
phone and returns to his book.) 

{All at once the audience is conscious 
of a woman standing in the doorway 
leading to the outer hall. She crosses 
the threshold and stands looking at 
Richard Grey. She is beyond the circle 
of light cast by the reading lamp and can 
only be seen vaguely.) 

Sydney: Richard! {Her voice is 
low, full, rich in tone. The man is on 
his feet in an instant and staring at her 
as though she were a ghost.) 

Grey: Sydney! Good Lord, how 
did you get here.' What on earth are 
you doing out on a night like this.' 
{She walks over to the fire.) Here, let 
me have your cape. , You must be 
drenched. {He helps her off with her 
wrap, exclaiming as he does so:) Wh)', 
it's bone dry! How did you manage 

{The zvoman is dressed in gray chiffon. 
Through the shadows of the darkened 
stage she seems but another shadow, dim 
and indefinite. She sinks down itito the 
high-backed chair; only a fold or two of 
the skirt of her gray gozcn can be seen by 
the audience.) 

Sydney: Manage what.' 
Grey: To keep dry! 
Sydney: Is it raining.' 

Grey: Great heavens, Sydney — lis- 
ten to it. Did someone blindfold you 
and bring you here.' Why, your cape 

Sydney {interrupting him): Rich- 
ard, there's no time for trivialities, 
explanations. I'm here — that's all 
that counts. 

Grey: But what brings you here on 
such a fiendish night.' Where's Larry? 

Sydney: Larry? Oh — he's at home. 

Grey: At home! You mean you're 
here alone? 

Sydney: Yes — you see — I've come 
for you. {Her voice has an eerie, 
dreamy quality.) 

Grey': You've what? 

Sydney {She repeats slowly, patiently 
as though to a child): I've — come — for 
— you. I want you to go with me. 

Grey: But Sydney, Larry! Have 
you left him? 

Sydney: {She nods): Yes, I've left 

{Richard Grey gets up from the divan 
and stands with his hack to her. There 
is a silence. Then he turns.) 

Grey: You're — you're going to di- 
vorce him? 

Sydney {She shakes her head): No, 
there's no need of it now. 

{He sits down again.) 

Grey: Sydney, what do you mean? 
What are you saying? You've left 
Larry, you're not going to divorce 
him, and yet you come to me here and 
ask me to go away with you. It — it 
doesn't sound like you, Sydney. 

Sydney: But you love me, Richard! 
{He is silent. She leans tozvard him.) 
Richard, you do love me. {There is 
nothing intense about her statement. 
It is merely wistful. He gets up, goes 
to the fire and stands looking down into 
it. When he turns and speaks again his 
voice is husky, desperate.) 

Grey: Sydney, why have you come 
here — like this? It's — it's cruel. It's 
insanity. / haven't the right — and you 
— you'll regret this all in the morning. 

Sydney: In the morning 
Richard dear, listen to me: there is 
only one thing that I can ever regret 
again and that will be if you don't 
come with me tonight. 

Grey: But, Sydney . . . There's 
another way out — a finer way! Di- 
vorce Larry and it won't be eternity 
before we can go away together — with 
all the world as witnesses. 

Sydney: Eternity! {She shudders.) 
That's just it. But you don't seem to 
understand. Richard, let me try to 
explain. It won't be easy for me to 

(Continued on page 30) 

The San Franciscan 

Imported from San Francisco 

Intimate Portraits of Native Sons Adopted by Father Knickerbocker 

No. 2. Ernest Peixotto 


(EDITOR'S NOTE. This is the second of a 
series of interviews with San Franciscans now 
living in New Yorli, who have attained fame and 
recognition in the world of music, art, literature 
and drama. For the February issue of THE 
SAN FRANCISCAN the author of this series will 
interview RoUo Peters. Others to follow will in- 
clude William Brady, David Belasco, and Robert 


''E'LL cover 

for next 

in the careful 
used only when dictat- 
ing telegrams — "P-E-I-X 

Ernest Peixotto 
. " I began 

is a shimmering transparency, a great 
delicacy and freshness, that strikes one 
at once — a note of youth and simplic- 
ity. "All this is good to find in Wall 
Street," I told myself, and hurried out 
to take the East Side "L" back to 
Sixty-Sixth Street. Ernest Peixotto 
lives on East Sixty-Sixth Street, part 
of the time. 

"You needn't spell it!" 
came the operator's voice 
crisply over* the wire. 
"I'm perfectly familiar 
with his works! 
The rest of the message, 
please!" And I gave it 

The next dav I took 
the East Side "L" down 
to Hanover Square. I 
reached Number 76 Wall 
Street. Here, where Pearl 
Street hurries across, and 
the old Cunard Building 
used to stand, Art has 
won another outpost 
from the money-changers. 
The Seaman's Bank for 
Savings, one of the coun- 
try's oldest financial in- 
stitutions — founded in 
1829 — has just erected 
its magnificent new home, 
calling upon the most 
distinguished artists to 
make it a monument of 
beauty. Five artists were 
invited to su bm i t 
sketches for the • great 
mural panels at the end 
of the main hall, and the 
award was given to IVa. 

Ernest Peixotto. That 
was on the 28th of last April, and now 
the great canvases — the central of the 
three 25 by 21 feet in size — are com- 
pleted and enshrined. 
* * * 

TN the central panel Washington is 
shown landing at the foot of Wall 
Street; while to the right is portrayed 
the shipping of 1830 — at the time of 
the bank's founding. To the left is 
painted the port of old New Amster- 
dam — the sea motif running through 
all the work and giving it unity. There 

.'hinglon Landing at the foot of Wall Street, Neii; 5 
A Mural hy Ernest Peixotto 

I half-way expected to find him in 
his studio, as a painter ought to be 
found, splashing nonchalantly at some 
huge canvas. Unfortunately he walked 
in a moment after my arrival, very 
prompt and courteous and business- 

There are fascinating things to find 
out about this San Franciscan who 
spends half the year in his home near 
Fontainebleau and half in New York, 
and loves the view from the windows 
of the Fairmont Hotel better than any 

other in the world. "Who's Who in 
Art" gives him quite a column — all 
about his illustrated travel articles in 
Scribner's, his numerous awards, high 
rank in the educative field of art, and 
his distinction of later years in mural 
painting — rather preparing one to gulp 
and swallow in his presence. 

One glance at Ernest Peixotto, as 
he sat just a bit awk- 
wardly, with his hands 
on his knees, explained 
why the paintings down 
in Wall Street are so 
nice and young — that's 
the way he is. There arif 
little wrinkles all around 
his eyes, where he tightens 
up his face in a Brownie- 
like smile every so often 
— but one forgets those 
when he talks delightedly 
of his work. He has 
the frank, naive atti- 
tude of a student, facing 
ahead rather than back 
over what he has 
achieved. His instincts, 
I soon noted, were not 
biographical. His charm 
and the readiness with 
which he confided to me 
— a perfect stranger — the 
secret of his methods in 
mural painting — (he be- 
gins in one corner, fin- 
ishes as he goes, and uses 
paint sparingly) — had a 
disarming effect; but one 
must be stern in inter- 
viewing, even w i t ii 


* * * 

"LJOW many years ago 
was it that you 
left San Francisco?" I 
asked, jotting down a tentative figure. 
"Ah, San Francisco," he mused. 
"You know, Mrs. Peixotto and I have 
wandered pretty much over the globe, 
and we have never found a city that 
is so cosmopolitan, so . 

"And when did you leave.'" I 
smiled pleasant!)'. 

"You know it was rather fortunate 
for me, in those davs," he went on, 
"that I had . . '." 

(Continued on page 34) 


Tkf S«« Frmmcifemm 

Lucia Looks In 

And Lays Her Plans to Crash the Gate 

xnnoBrs iMraE. of 

KTfSL My Deter- 

Evemliin^ in San Fiandsoo is 
likdv be surprised to hear that Hora- 
tio and me are at last going into 
Society- It's orcr a year noir since 
ve last seen Portland, and oar lives 
has certainhr been changed since ve 
began getting cosmopofitan. Mm foi, 
yes. We went rigjit £rom Portland to 
Nev York and then to Paris. Well 
my dear, I got so many exdting 
things to tdl yoa about o«^er there bat 
I guess maybe I better wait until I 
see you for smne of them. (Ha! ha") 
Well anyway, one of the first things I 
done was to get done over and that 
took a wfatde month and a ktt of 
money bat I didn't mind that becai^x 
Locie (he's really a man) cert^nly 
did a wooderful job and I met some 
wooderful people while he was doing 
me and my dear I certainly have at- 
tracted a lot cf attention since that 
last day when I was finished and then 
I went to see Maurice Cpnmoanced 
Morris,^ Le Blanc and my dear he is 
certainly wocnlerful! He only has to 
look at you long enoogh and he knows 
exactly what yoa need and he made 
me walk ("sortay") and ut and 
lounge on a beautihd ckMSf bnmge and 
go up and down staiis and my dear 
be was so exdtcd be called in his 
secmair (private) and made me do 
all the things over for her and when I 
got finished thev both were saving 
''^L\R\■ELO0S''' and "EXTRAOR- 
DIN.VIR" and a lot of quick French 
and then Alaurioe (3kIorris| tcdd me I 
was a very ii§eremi type and he would 
have to study me and then he screamed 
laughing with te mp er a ment and excite- 
ment but be made me a gorgeous 
wardrobe with hats and everybody 
says their all Jistimgm£ (that's French 
for smart » and of course their iterribly 
expensive and I do feel \L\RVEL- 
OUS. WelL my dear, where was I^ 
Oh yes, and at Lade's one morning I 
met XGss Higsbee wbo was once a 
governess in a Count's family but 
was like a kind of companion and 
coach to a b^ English actress when I 
met her. but she said the actress was 
carrying on so she wanted to make a 
change before her ca^ reputation was 
mined, so I said bow I was so crazy 
to get more oosmopoGtan and wouldn't 

she like to come with me and so she 
said she would and she did. She said 
she oonld make me over and she did. 
She has aO the stamp of RACE and 
BREED, don't you biow. and refine- 
ment and she KNOWS what to do 
and when to do it. Yes indeed — she's 
a REAL PERSON, and at couise 
she's dmng wonders for me. I'm tak- 
ing up Art and French and The Drama 
and aO the things that make a Leader 
but of course my dear it's strenuous 
work you can be sure, but it's so exdt- 
ing — someti mis I mean. .%nd there's 
a wonderful Russian dancer wbo has 
a school here and Miss Higsbee says 
she hopes to have me advanced 
enough bv .April to go in for ''EIX- 
oombinatioo of French and Russian 
Artjt with him. Remember them 
wonderful times we used to have at 
the Odd Fellow's dances Saturday 
ni^tsr WeO anyway, going back, 
when we were ready to come home I 
was aO for taking a Park .\venne 
place because that certainly IS the 
thing to do now but Miss Higsbee 
said it woald be much better to try 
San Francisoo fast becaus e it was 
Cultural and of couise that's what 
we're after now and she said the 
people were kinder, and anyway, that 
lovdy old partner of Horatio's. Ben 
Kneemeier and his family live here 
and my dear, they are IN! There's 
lumself, and her. and the sons Sey- 
mour and Van Peh Kneemeier and 
the dai^hter Patrida Kneemeier. Tbey 
live very el^ant with corps of servants 
and as soon as we get a house and a 
few cars they are going to imtrodmte us. 
I hope the canneries keep pr o sp erous 
and here's hoping for a good fish sea- 
son! Mofe later, my dear. 

ja HfK UtfL, 


January 10, 1927. 
ZXr^r CiartL: 

Wdl here we are in Burlingame, 
Cal., and of couise, as you can imagine 
everything is wonderful! .After a lot 
of oonsideratioa we scratched Berke- 
ley and Fiedmont off of our list and 
dedded that Burlingame b THE 
place because Society IS here, with a 
real rfchetcke dub my dear, and we're 
going to make it if we have to buy 
the place and everybody in it, yes 
indeed. I'm detennined! Of course I 
have my down minutes now and then 
but up and at 'em b my mottoe and 

when I remember bow Horatio made 
**SKJPPER~ brand salmon famous all 
ova- the world I don't have much 
doubt about my powers to conquer 
and anyway tbey all had to get a start 
sometinae and its only that a k)t of 
these here Leadeis had a ckaoce to 
get the Califofnia mud off their boots 
a genera tion before we're getting the 
fish smeO off of ours so I says w^ 
Horatio don't let a few long faces 
scare you because they doo't scare 
me and anyway \fiss Higsbee sure 
can show you how to raise a wicked 
eydnow and Ritz any dl these here 
swdb off <rf their feet. But we h a vem't 
showed oursdves much yei. cr wiiat 
we got dtber — but we will deane. 

Well, anyway, we got a grand b^ 
Spanbh viDa with thirty-six Fooms 
and nine baths brand new never lived 
in and the furnishings b sumptuous 
the Louie Kanz drawing room alone 
cost us tea thou and the italian dining 
room more and I got the grandest 
sunken bath my dear, where I got 
to go down three steps to get in the 
tub and I always slip getting in but 
then we can't cover that grand maible 
with rubber pads and the faucets is 
real g(4d f^ted fish not Ore«c>n fish 
but artistic Italian ones you know. 
\n& I have got the most wonderful 
THING my dear. It b a SENS.A- 
TIONI Miss H^sbee and my>e]f was 
coming out of the Palace Hotel one 
day and I seen something glittering 
in a window across the strea and it 
was Crane's where they make all the 
bath-tubs and things like that and 
the top on thb here beautiful thing 
was real pure mother-of-peari and my 
dear I certainly was exoted '' - 
dnated when I seen that i. - 
Higsbee tries to get to get mc lu Lbe 
car but I says nothing doing I got to 
have that for Burlingame and she 
says weD no decent human being could 
e\Ter use TH.\T but I says I will and I 
am and it b just an inspiration my 
dear, standing their sparkling in the 
morning sun. Of course my interior 
decorator went into hysterics and 
said it was like the gold plumbing in 
some Boston Church and the poor 
dear got so unstrung be smashed hb 
diamond wrist watch, and said he'd 
give up the job and aO like that, but 
my dear. I like it and I'm going to 
keep it. WelL my dear, I got to fly 
to town to see my poor dear tempera- 
mental decorator. 

^u Rrroir. affectknatdy. 


The San Franciscan 

Italian Court of the Andrew Welch Home, San Francisco 

The San Franciscan 


Meanwhile in Manhattan 

New York — Its Pleasures and Idiosyncrasies 

IT really looked as if a dreadful blow 
had ijeen dealt the New York 
automat system a short while 
back, when the Vox Publica declared 
that dimes would no longer be sur- 
rendered upon the rear platform of the 
Fifth Avenue bus. Maybe the public 
is too used to getting immediate re- 
sults from the coin-in-the-slot system 
— and riding anywhere on a Fifth 
Avenue bus is twice as slow as walking, 
and nearly as dangerous. Usually 
when one drops in a nickel something 
happens. They tell about the San 
Franciscan who wandered into Horn 
and Hardart's and trustingly pushed 
his five cents into the slot marked 
"coffee," anticipating that a cup would 
slide forth. He found it depressing to 
wring the morning stimulant from his 
\eh trouser leg instead. However, 
nothing really discouraged the automat 
idea for long. Lately we have self- 
service spreading into the less crowded 
field of photography. Over on Broad- 
way a bright young firm has opened 
on the ground floor with a wholly in- 
adequate number of little booths where 
one (or two, or three, provided the 
sitters wish to huddle amiably) may 
relax, arrange the features, drop 
twenty-iive cents in the slot, register 
a bright succession of becoming emo- 
tions, and leave in eight minutes with 
a strip of pictures as good as any you'll 
find on a passport. The Street Clean- 
ing Department has risen to meet the 
emergency, and has moved over a 
fleet of waste-paper cans from Forty- 
Second Street, where nobody seems to 
use them, anyway. 

A HEMISPHERE removed is Park 
"^ Avenue at the moment. Traffic 
is almost exclusively given over to 
debutantes on their way to a luncheon 
at Pierre's or just coming from some- 
thing of the sort at the Marguery or 
Sherry's. Fares who haven't "That 
Look" are driven very fast, or routed 
down Lexington Avenue, and right of 
way among the pedestrians depends 
upon the pedigree of one's dog. It is 
evidently his day on the Park Avenue 

* * * 

'"pHE art galleries are having their 
winter epidemic, and all sorts of 
little exhibitions break out weekly. 
The Brooklyn Aluseum's display of 
the ultra modern in achievement seems 
to be the most violent case to date, 
and quite worth traveling out into 

the suburbs to see. No one expects 
to understand all about its symbols, 
surely, but there is the usual bluff on 
the part of the critics. For those who 
like to do the winter art in a sedate, 
refined way, the Union League Club's 
exhibition of paintings from the Na- 
tional Academy of Design a week or 
so ago was uplifting if not exactly an 
emotional experience. After gazing 
about one room of pictures labeled 
"distinguished" on the catalogue ar- 
ranged by the committee, among 
them Alontague Flagg's "Portrait of 
Monsieur Delahaye," Robert Reid's 
"Daffodils," and an interesting 
"Sketch" by J. Alden Weir, the visitor 
could find still further diversions. 

* * * 

A^/'E read in the papers about an- 
other precocious school-boy who 
takes his curtain calls along with 
David Putnam and Hilda Conkling 
by writing a letter to Wilbur on the 
weakness of the national air force. 
Macy's Department Store had its 
annual parade over the protests of the 
army and navy. That certainly ex- 
poses our defenseless condition. As 
for the Parade — held presumably in 
the interests of Bigger and Better 
Purchases (at Macy's) — it seems a 
nice old institution much in the spirit 
of the Sacramento State Fair. It was 
rather a shock to see the floorwalkers 
disguised as clowns and the hind legs 
of elephants, and the damsels from the 
notions and ladies'ready-to-wears, pos- 
ing on the floats. Evidently counter- 
pounding makes for efficiency rather 
than pulchritude. 

* * * 

A HOLLOW rattling of padlocks is 
heard. The night clubs all shud- 
der: the Lido, at 808 Seventh Avenue 
and the Villa Venise, 10 East Sixtieth, 
in the smart sophistication of bare 
shoulders and correctness; Texas 
Guinan's Three Hundred Club down 
on West Fifty-Fourth in a decidedly 
vulgar and unrefined manner; while 
at the Montmartre on West Fiftieth 
the anesthesia produced by Coleman's 
music, Maurice and Eleanora's danc- 
ing, and the five-dollar convert charge, 
dulls other sounds. Van Vechten has 
done much to insure good patronage 
among the Harlem night clubs this 
winter. However, even one who has 
not read "Nigger Heaven" will stay 
awake at Small's, 2294 Seventh Ave. 
There is a prejudice on the part of 
the management against white folks 

who fall asleep in the place, and the 
entertainment is dynamic to the nth 
degree. Nine-tenths of the people who 
go to night clubs where pigment mat- 
ters deport themselves in a more or 
less gloomy fashion. But up Harlem 

way a good time is had by all. 
* * * 

CINCE the vogue of "Lulu Belle" no 
play should be without its gold 
tooth. Sidney Howard, in "Ned 
McCobb's Daughter," having a suc- 
cessful run at the John Golden, gives 
Alfred Lunt a chance to hide his real 
self behind a gleaming molar and cheap 
bootlegging bravado, as "Babe Calla- 
han." Clare Eames, as "Carrie," the 
season's one heroine possessing neither 
beauty, youth, nor sexual depravity, 
occasionally slips from Yankee dialect 
into cultured diction, but on the whole 
we are glad she sends her husband 
packing, restores to the erring Mar- 
galo Gillmore, as "Jenny," her job in 
the Spa, and saves the old home place. 
The play seems full of such excellent 
characterization that we grieve to en- 
counter such trite old friends as the 
mortgage situation, the aged father 
who dies of a stroke on the eve of 
revelation, and the brute who grips 
'em by the throat. 

Somerset Maugham has provided a 
perfect role for Ethel Barrymore in 
"The Constant Wife," playing at the 
Maxine Elliott. As "Constance Mid- 
dleton" this poised and hoarse-voiced 
lady stalls off family and friends bear- 
ing tidings of her husband's infidelity, 
for two acts, and then springs her own 
little surprise. We won't give it away. 
The play has a few moments where 
one fears there will be a let-down — 
but there is none. In fact, the third 
act is even better than the first two. 

There are those who complain that 
Walter Hampden, playing the title 
role in "Caponsacchi," a dramatiza- 
tion of Browning's "The Ring and the 
Book," is a bit stiff, or a bit this, or a 
bit that. For me, this play seems a 
justification for some of the old stan- 
dards in the theater. For one thing, 
every word spoken is distinct, the 
lighting and setting is exquisite, and 
the general effect produced is exalta- 
tion. One's first reaction is impatience 
with the vogue of wise-cracking drama. 
Then later that a good play is a good 
play — with or without any specified 
ingredients. Walter Hampden is pro- 
ducing a good play. 


The San Franciscan 

Bilitis and Jean 


Time: 1927 

SCENE: The green and crystal bou- 
doir of a very celebrated lady, a 
connoisseur of men, more particu- 
larly, rich men. It is evening. Jean, 
the lady of the charming boudoir, sits 
before a tiny fire, looking consummately 

Suddenly, a Grecian woman appears. 
She came in the classic manner; that is, 
from nowhere — neither the door, 
nor the window, nor any defin- 
able place. She is Bilitis, the 
Grecian courtesan and poetess. 
Jean is startled, but being ultra- 
modern and through long ac- 
quaintance with champagne per- 
fectly unperturbed by unna- 
tural visions, she suppresses 
the expression of amazement on 
her face and greets her strange 
guest with a szvift movement of 
a super-sophisticated eyebrow. 

Bilitis: I am Bilitis. I 
learned that you liked my 
verse so I have returned from 
Elysium to chat with you. 
Are you afraid? 

Jean: No; not afraid. Puz- 
zled. I find it difficult to be- 
lieve that it is really Bilitis. 

Bilitis: Oh! you moderns. 
You are so skeptical. I sup- 
pose you doubt that Minerva 
sprang from the head of Jove. 
Well, do you find me beautiful .'' 

Jean: Yes, very. More so 
than I imagined from your 

Bilitis: My poetry. Ah! 
my poor poetry. It was writ- 
ten for the sake of loveliness. 
It is read for the sake of lust. 
Your poets of today are very 
queer persons. They sing of 
the dark "flowers of evil," of 
tiger-lilies that are like mad, 
unholy passions, of orchids that 
symbolize strange maladies, 
and of sad, heavy tuberoses 
of diabolic sweetness. Your 
poetry is troubled and unclean. 

Jean: Through your primitive eves, 

Bilitis: You are so buried in your 
deformity you cannot see it. 

Jean: We are advanced way beyond 
you. Progress. Over two thousand 
years of progress. 

Bilitis: Progress is an illusion, an 
illusion Nature provides for people 
that do not know that living is itself 
an art. When it was spring, we con- 

cerned ourselves with the spring; when 
it was summer we blinked at the sun 
and laughed, and when it was autumn, 
we were autumnal. It was this spring, 
this summer, this autumn, that occu- 
pied us, not next year's. Ah! j'ou have 
no serenity, no repose. 

Jean: There were some among you 
that did not know the value of repose. 
Of all the men that Circe turned to 


The night is fading. The stars are far away 
Now the very latest courtesans have all gone 
homewards with their paramours. And I, in the 
morning rain, write these verses in the sand 

The leaves are loaded down with shining 
water. The little streams that run across the 
roads carry earth and trains of dead leaves. The 
rain, drop by drop, makes holes in my song 

Ah, how sad and lonely I am here! The young- 
est do not look at me at all, the oldest all have 
quite forgotten me. 'Tis well. They will learn 
my verses, and the children of their children. 

Here is something neither Myrtale, nor Thais, 
nor Glykera will say, the day their lovely cheeks 
grow sagged with age. Those who will love 
when I am gone, will sing my songs together, 
in the dark. 

Pierre Louys "The Sortf;s of Bilitis^' from the Greek 

swine, there was but one who was 
philosophical enough to gratefully re- 
main a swine, as some one has said. 
There is a great difference between us. 
I cannot remember Grecian moonlight. 
You never wrote about the moon, if I 
remember. Nor did Homer. Calypso 
had no moonlight in her island Para- 
dise to help her bewitch Ulysses. It 
was always noontide with you. That 
is my impression. High noon and 

brown, healthy, perspiring bodies, a 
summer afternoon and the smell of 
crushed grass. We have moonlight, 
you see, the delicate, subtle moon- 
light, where sin looks more beautiful 
and love seems more than a weakness 
about the loins. 

Bilitis: Why is a dead thing more 
romantic than a living one and why is 
the reflection of a thing more beautiful 
than the thing itself? 

Je.-\n: Our sun means some- 
thing very serious. 

Bilitis: Yes. It means mil- 
lions of captive men with tired 
faces, rushing to work, and 
women, too. Ugh! We had 
no such sight to depress us. 
Even our slaves, when ex- 
hausted, could lie on their 
backs and play with their 

Jean: We know many 
things you have never 
dreamed of, difficult things 
that your brain would be in- 
capable of understanding. 

Bilitis: But your happiness 
— where is it ? 

Jean: Our happiness is dif- 
ferent from yours, also more 
advanced. Even so advanced 
sometimes, that our happiness 
is our pain. 

Bilitis: I can understand 
that, the pain of a lover's 
teeth, you mean. 

Jean: In a physical way, 
yes. But we love in a mental 
way now. It is much more 
bitter and at the same time 
much more sweet. 

Bilitis: Your love is not a 
fire kindled from flesh to 
flesh. Your love must go 
from your over-stuffed brains 
into your bodies. By the time 
it is consummated, it is not a 
great, bright flame, but a pale, 
melanchol)' candle, the candle 
in the sickroom. All of you 
are sick. Love is your candle 
and, f o o 1 i s h 1 >' , most of you 
have blown it out. You don't 
want it, for by its light you are 
reminded that you are human and 
to be human is, for you, an unspeak- 
able vulgarity. Ah! all of you arc very 
old. Your hair is prostrate upon 
your forehead which is stretched and 
wan with too much thought. The 
fragrance of your hair is full of hypoc- 
(Conlinued on page 32) 


Daughters of Mrs. Harry Hill of San Franc:sco. A Photograph of the Painting by Sasportas, of Paris 

The San Franciscan 

The Reigning Dynasty 

HAS San Francisco a salon: 
\Mien a lion comes a-visiting 
is there one, just one, hostess or 
host, who can be depended upon to 
throw him a nice piece of raw meat, 
or give a saucer of cream to a Honess : 

There have been so many of late — 
princes and princesses, ladies and 
lords, fiddlers and pipers, poets and 
prose-smiths. It has been suggested 
that the board of directors of the San 
Francisco Conservatory of Music is by 
way of evolving into such an institu- 
tion. Certainly the personnel com- 
prises women of social prestige, means 
and taste who "could if they would" 
engineer entertainment of visiting ce- 
lebrities so that San Francisco would 
be shown in a light commensurate 
with her attainment. But they are 
interested in music only. There is a 
so-called P. E. N. (Poets, Editors, and 
Novelists) which occasionally throws 
a party for a writer. But writers are 
not the whole show, their own private 
opinions to the contrary. 

The San Francisco Center, the \^'om- 
en's City Club, the Bohemian Club, 
all do their best, but their style is 
cramped by many considerations. Even 
the Downtown Association and the 
Chamber of Commerce have a tech- 
nique that is not to be scorned. 

Mrs. Charles N. Felton, who is a 
member of the Conservatory of Music 
board, has been opening her home in 
Pacific Avenue for a series of talks 
which Mile. Jeanne de Mare has been 
giving on music and related subjects. 
Mrs. George T. Cameron, Mrs. Harry 
Horsely Scott, and Mrs. Lawrence 
Harris are others in that same coterie 
who have been promoting Mile. Le 
Mare's recitals. Airs. John H. Rosse- 
ter's home on Russian Hill will be the 
setting Monday, January 17th, for a 
similar affair. 

On the Conservatory of Music board 
of governors are, besides Mrs. Felton 
and Mrs. Scott, Mrs. Stanley G. Har- 
ris, Mrs. Marcus Koshland, Mrs. 
Ansley K. Salz, Mrs. M. C. Sloss, Mrs. 
Wilberforce Williams, Mrs. Lawrence 
Arnstein, Miss Katherine Burke, Mrs. 
Gerald Campbell, and Mrs. Selah 

Then there is the Browning Club, 
which now and then takes things into 
its own hands. But more often it con- 
tents itself with merely making it 
possible for its friends to hear the 
lions roar (or purr). Two of the lead- 
ing women of the Browning are Mrs. 
M. C. Sloss and Mrs. E. G. Schmeidell. 

So, if the lion were told to bow to 
the prettiest and kneel to the wittiest 
he'd be up against it. 

But if he were entertained at the 
home of Mrs. William H. Crocker, 
Mrs. George A. Pope, or Mrs. William 
Bourn he could go away feeling fairly 
sure that he had met representative 
San Franciscans and that San Fran- 
cisco had offered him her best as she 
sees it. 

'TpHE tirst important wedding of the 
New Year was that of Miss Caro- 
line Louise Madison and Charles Oel- 
richs Martin, which took place Jan- 
uarv 5th at the home of the bride's 

What San Francisco Debu- 
tante Jilted a Prince to 
Marry a Plumber 

Do You Know Your San Fran- 
cisco's Social History? 

Its Beautiful Women; 
Its Gallant Men; 
Its Intrigues; 
Its Conquests; 
Its Disappointments. 

A Social Questionnaire will 
I appear in the February issue 
of THE S-\N FR.\NCISC.\N. 

How many of the questions 
will you be able to answer? 

sister, Mrs. Wakefield Baker, in Broad- 
way, with the \ ery Reverend Mon- 
signor John Rogers of St. Patrick's 
officiating in the presence of nearly 
two hundred guests. Mrs. Baker and 
Miss Idabelle W heaton were the bride's 
only attendants and John W halley was 
the best man. The ushers were Ed- 
ward McNear, Lalor Crimmins, Rich- 
ard Burke. John Brooke, Jr., Marshall 
Madison, and Charles Fay, Jr. Mar- 
tin is the grandson of Mrs. Eleanor 
Martin. His father was the late Peter 
Martin, a brother of Walter S. Harvey. 
and half-brother of J. Downey Martin. 
His mother is the Duchess of Mecklen- 
berg, who came from Germany to at- 

tend the wedding. The bride is the 

daughter of Frank D. Madison and a 

sister of Mrs. Baker and Marshall 

Madison. She made her debut se\eral 

}^ears ago and has been living with her 

aunt, Mrs. Frederick Hope Beaver, 

in Broadway. 

* * * 

npHE magnificence of the Tobin 
•*■ Clark ball, like the glory that was 
Greece and the grandeur that was 
Rome, is still being talked about. 
Was it entirely due to the long arm of 
coincidence that the Dutch cruiser 
"Sumatra" should be here at the same 
time that the American Minister to 
The Netherlands, Richard M. Tobin, 
should be home on his annual visit 
and entertaining for his pretty niece. 
Miss Patricia Clark, the inspiration of 
what promises to go down in social 
history as simply, "The Clark Ball".' 
Or did the Dutch government send 
its stout ship here as a compliment to 
Mr. Tobin.' 

There were many notably handsome 
gowns worn at the ball, but none more 
striking, perhaps, than that of Miss 
Louise Boyd, recently home from 
Franz Josef Land, where she hunted 
whales and what not on the ice floes, 
and became so inured to exposure that 
a ball gown with but a wisp of chiffon 
above the belt was to her as comfort- 
able as if she were wrapped to her chin 
in furs. The gown was of some dark 
material and the bodice was suspended, 
as it were, by bands of flesh-colored 
tulle which gave the top-mast the 
appearance of not being there at all. 
But it was, in part. Miss Boyd is 
looking extremely handsome, but slen- 
derer than when she left a few months 
ago. Miss Janet Coleman, with whom 
she traveled in the far north, returned 
to London with her and thence went 
to Egypt by way of tasting extremes 

in weather. 

* * * 

\/fRS. Arabella Schwerin McCreery 
attracted much attention and ex- 
cited admiration at a recent polo game 
where she sat in a box with William 
Leib. She was garbed entirely in 
white, shoes, dress, coat, fur, and hat 
being in the same dazzling color, which 
accentuated her dark beauty. Mrs. 
McCreery is occupying the Schwerin 
house at Burlingame this winter, her 
parents having come to town for the 


* * * 

npHE debut of Miss Mary Brockway 

•*■ Metcalf, granddaughter of Henry 

Huntington of Los Angeles, was one of 

The San Franciscan 


(Continued from page 19) 

the most important social events of 

the season, but the San Francisco 

papers did not make so much of it as 

of the affairs at which local girls were 

presented. But it was a lovely party 

none the less. More than one thousand 

invitations were issued and all eagerly 


* * * 

CAPTAIN Selby McCreery of the 
British army has arrived in San 
Francisco from England and will pass 
three months in California. He is 
visiting his uncle, Mr. Richard Mc- 
Creery, and Mrs. McCreery at their 
home in Burlingame, and will also go 
to Del Monte for the polo season. 

Captain McCreery is the son of 
the late Mr. Walter McCreery, who 
passed most of his life in England, 
and is a brother of Lieutenant Richard 
McCreery of the British army. Cap- 
tain McCreery is a famous polo player, 
and while in California will play at 
the San Mateo Polo Club and in the 
tournaments at Del Monte. 

Another interesting visitor in Cali- 
fornia, who is coming specially for the 
winter polo games at Del Monte, is 
Averill Harriman of New York. Mr. 
Harriman is the son of the late Mr. 
E. H. Harriman, and often visited 
here with his father. He will play 
on Mr. Gordon Moore's polo team. 

Mr. Thomas Hitchcock, Jr., of New 
York and Aiken, S. C, will also arrive 
for the polo season, and will be on 
Mr. Moore's team. 



[RS. George Cameron entertained 
at a tea dance last week at the 
De Young home in California Street 
for her nieces, the Misses Patricia and 
Consuelo Tobin, the sub-deb daughters 
of Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Oliver Tobin. 

Small tables were placed around the 
sides of the ballroom with a miniature 
Christmas tree on each. 

Among the young people present 
were Miss Evelyn Taylor, Miss Happy 
Hamilton, Miss Peggy and Miss Eve- 
lyn Salisbury, Miss Leone Weeks, 
Miss Katherine Stent, Miss Florence 
McCormick, Miss Gloria Wood, Miss 
Marguerite Garceau, Miss Dominga 
Russell, Miss Harrie Hill, Miss Carol 
Lapham, Miss Edna Lapham, Orville 
Pratt, Jr., Russell Pratt, James V. 
Coleman, John S. Drum, Jr., Laurison 
DriscoU, Thomas Driscoll, Jr., Nicol 
Smith, John Sullivan, Charles R. Mc- 
Cormick, Jr., and W'alter Newhall. 

'T^HE wedding of Miss Beryl Whit- 

ney and Eric Heuermann took 

place W'ednesday, December 29th, at 

the Methodist Episcopal Church in 
San Jose, with the Rev. Whitaker 

The bride is the daughter of Mrs. 
Pearl Landers Whitney and of Mr. 
Vincent Whitney and comes from two 
prominent California families. She is 
the granddaughter of the late Mr. 
and Mrs. J. Parker Whitney and of 
Mrs. John Landers and the late Mr. 
Landers. The Whitney ranch at 
Rocklin is one of the show places of 
the state, and the family pass part of 
their time there. The late Mr. Lan- 
ders was one of the first members of 
the Bohemian Club and was a well- 
known figure in the social and financial 
world of San Francisco. The bride is 
a niece of Mrs. Frederick W. Tallant 
and of Mrs. James G. Blaine, Jr. She 
is a graduate of the Dominican Con- 
vent and attended the Ely School in 
Connecticut last term. 

Heuermann is the son of Mrs. 
Amanda Heuermann of San Fran- 
cisco and a nephew of Mrs. W^. F. 
Hourgaard and Mrs. Frank Ferran. 
He is a grandson of Mrs. A. Arps, and 
is the manager of the Arps ranch at 

* * * 

'X*HE Thursday before the Princess 
Murat sailed she was the guest of 
honor at a luncheon given by Mrs. 
Arthur Brown, Jr., at her home in 
Burlingame. Others at the luncheon 
were the hostess's mother,Mrs. Thomas 
Garrett of Virginia, Mrs. William H. 
Crocker, Mrs. John Magee of New 
York, Mrs. John S. Drum, Mrs. 
Daniel C. Jackling, and Mrs. Atholl 

Princess Murat was also the guest of 
honor at a tea given last week by Mrs. 
William Mayo Newhall at her home 
in Scott Street following the meeting 
of the Salon Francais at the Fairmont 
Hotel, when the princess spoke on 

■jV/fISS Eleanor Morgan and August 
Virden will be married Saturday 
afternoon, February Sth. There will 
be a large bridal party. The ceremony 
will be held at 4 o'clock at Trinity 
Church and afterward there will be a 
reception at the home of the bride's 
parents, Mr. and Mrs. Horace W. 
Morgan, in Washington Street. 

Mrs. Starr Bruce will be the matron 
of honor, and Miss Marjorie Davis 
will be the maid of honor. The other 
attendants will be Miss Sophia Brow- 
nell. Miss Idabelle Wheaton, Miss 
Julia Adams, Mrs. William Cannon, 
and Mrs. Charles Oelrichs Martin. 

Mr. William Cannon will be the best 

Since the announcement of their en- 
gagement many affairs have been 
given for Miss Morgan and Mr. Vir- 
den, one of the recent parties in their 
honor being a dinner given by Miss 
Sophia Brownell at the Hotel St. 
Francis. Among the other guests at 
the dinner were Mr. and Mrs. William 
Cannon, Mr. and Mrs. Starr Bruce, 
Mr. and Mrs. Charles Oelrichs Martin, 
Miss Marjorie Davis, Mr. David Man- 
noccer, and Mr. Alilton Esberg, Jr. 

/^NE of the attractive affairs of the 
^-'^ New Year was the luncheon given 
by Mrs. Arthur Rose Vincent at her 
Pebble Beach villa, when she enter- 
tained more than sixty guests. 

The luncheon was served in the 
patio and on the terrace overlooking 
the ocean. 

The Vincent house is one of the 
most attractive in the Pebble Beach 
colony, and is a perfect type of Span- 
ish-American architecture. 

The guests included Mr. and Mrs. 
Henry Hunt, Mr. and Mrs. William 
C. Van Antwerp, Miss Helen Chese- 
brough, Mr. and Mrs. William H. 
Crocker, Mr. and Mrs. John A. Ma- 
gee of New York, Mr. and Mrs. 
Richard McCreery, Mr. and Mrs. 
Cyril Tobin, Mr. and Mrs. Templeton 
Crocker, Mr. Walter Dillingham, Mr. 
and Mrs. Frank McComas, Mrs. Eu- 
gene Murphy, Mr. and Mrs. Edward 
J. Tobin, Mr. and Mrs. John Drum, 
Mr. and Mrs. Samuel F. B. Morse. 
Mr. Paul Fagan, Mr. William J. 
Byrne, Mr. Gerald Rathbone, Mr. 
Stanford Gwin, and Mr. Guerney 
Newlin of Los Angeles. 

/^NE of the interesting affairs of the 
^^ winter season was the costume 
ball which Mr. and Mrs. Cliff Weather- 
wax gave on the evening of January 
L'ith at the Burlingame Country Club. 
It was a red and white ball, and man}' 
of the costumes planned were original 
and most attractive. For the past 
several winters Mr. and Mrs. Weather- 
wax have given a fancy dress ball. 
Last season they gave a head-dress 
ball, when all of the guests appeared in 
fantastic head coverings. 

Many dinners were given before the 
dance, among those who were hosts 
being Mr. and Mrs. W. W. Crocker, 
Mr. and Mrs. Roger Bocqueraz, Mr. 
and Mrs. R. Walker Salisbury, and 
Mrs. Richard McCreery. Mr. Mc- 
Creery is in mourning on account of 
the recent death of Mr. Lawrence A4c- 
Creery, and is not taking part in any 
social affairs at present. 

The San Franciscan 


Mr. John Men'Jes — .Ui>f Constant Horn 

Miss Esther Perry — Mr. Bourn llayne 

Mr. fValter Nexhall—Miss Cynthia Boyd 

Miss I'er' lie I'ere .-IJanu — .\Jr. Kenneth High 

Mrs. If'm. Ilinkley Taylor — Mrs. George Boyd 

Following her debut Miss Cynthia Boyd acted as hostess to the debutante set at a dance 
in the home of her aunt, Mrs. William Hinkley Taylor 

The San Franciscan 



Franciscan Vignettes 


NOB HILL . . . 
Where the thrones of the mighty 
fell at a shake of the footstool. 
Hopkins, Huntington, Stanford, Flood. 
Crocker — a roll call in eternity of the 
men who made the grade. Railroads 
and Gold. Auction bridge and charge 
accounts. Squatters on the lost king- 
doms of nabobs. Subdivisions. A rem- 
nant sale of birthrights. Memories — 
like old lace on a gown b\' Molyneu.x. 
A delicatessen sprouting on a dado of 
burned treasures. Grubstakes and 
Pioneers. Diets and fallen arches. A 
double ■ exposure — "The Citv That 
Was"— "The City That Is."' A tin- 
type by de Meyer. We moderns. 
Successfully living down their pasts — 
but not up to our own heritages. "Old 
Pancake" Comstock. Serving Peach 
Melba to Powell Street Cowboys. 
"Come to see me again. Glad to ha\'e 
you. Take a pocketful of nuggets." 
Heights sometime make one dizzy. 
High boys and hitching posts. Over- 
stuffed and Bill boards. A \igilante 
sleeps — but the Rotarj' members are 
wide awake. Tally Ho and Honk 
Honk. Traditions in silent catenation 
along the corridors of the Fairmont — 
and imagine driving to the Mark Hop- 
kins in a surrey! Settled in the sixties 
— unsettled in '26. A Kreisler play- 
ing jazz for the Junior League. I hate 
earthquakes. San Francisco through 
a lorgnette, from the top rung of the 
social ladder — and the poor souls with 
no Emily Post to guide them. 

Quadrille to Charleston; guest rooms 
to wall beds; red blood to steam heat! 

Progress — or what have you .' 

Take Powell, Sacramento, or Cali- 
fornia cable lines. 

A Saga of the Great — camouflaged 
by apartment houses. 
NOB HILL . . . 


Circe — singing — to men chained to 
office desks. 

A reception hall inside a Golden 
Gate. Where hats of all nations are 
taken off in homage. Ships and car- 
goes. Men and labor. A morgue of 
childhood dreams. Lying unrecog- 
nized — while awaiting burial by Time. 
The place to plan your life if you could 
live it over again. Midnight missions 
gathering driftwood. Tides and cur- 
rents. Piers and fog-horns. Handi- 
work of God cartooned by ferry slips. 
The cross-roads in trails of men who 
go "down to the sea in ships." A 
bookstore for those who have never 
learned to read — with volumes from 
e\'ery country. Sailors with open 
faces and hidden aigrettes. Yo Ho 
and the Eighteenth Amendment. Sea 
legs and bilge water. Docks and 
gangways — pouring raw material over 
the brim of the melting pot. Tears at 
farewell — Cousin Bill sets sail for 
Sausalito; and a globe-trotter yawns 
as he leaves for Timbuctoo. How 
convenient for some wives if their 
husbands were sailors. Two days in 
port and a skipper takes his bearings. 
Wharf rats and stevedores. Rum 
runners and fishing smacks. An over- 
ture to the seven seas. Neptune and 
Davy Jones reading a requiem to a 
row of dead ships in the mud flats. 

Bombay and Bristol — Pago-Pago 
and Papeete — Singapore and Sydney 
■ — Cairo and Calais — 

Names of secret desires. 

Land-lubbers! Astigmatic eyes star- 
ing at the horizon — 

Fools! We watch magic lantern 
slides of travelogues — while Adven- 
ture calls. 

Close the ledger! The world lies be- 
fore you. Bon Voyage — 

rjHINATOWN . . . 
A whisper. 

Like a placid river with a potent 
undertow. Where East meets West 
by walking north or south on Grant 
Avenue. Hip Sing and Ming Toy — 
straw slippers and French heels. 2 
a. m. Four finger-nails gone and Ni- 
Pau isn't home yet. Tea and rice from 
a charcoal burner while the tourist 
from Yapp's Crossing casts a world- 
wise eye over a bowl of chop suey. A 
flower shop with rotting poppies on 
the roof. Narrow streets and broad 
minds; bland faces and shuffling feet. 
Live dolls with Dresden faces — who 
smile at you; but "never the twain 
shall meet." Langorous lilies of the 
East — at home in a clay pot from 
Newark. Soy — Silks and Saki.' I 
wonder if they have a Santa Claus. 
They invented gunpowder, but what 
can you expect from a race who cele- 
brate New Year's in February.' The 
Telephone Exchange brightened with 
flowers in a Ming vase. Almond eyes 
and Lichee nuts. Old men in door- 
ways — smoking Bull Durham — while 
they dream of Canton. The final 
denial to "Gentlemen Prefer Blonds." 
Ten more dollars to Hangkow. An- 
other cousin pays a 21-cent fare from 
Oakland. "You speakee piecee Eng- 
lish, John.'" "I am honored to men- 
tion it among the few of my humble 
accomplishment s." Confucius 
dressed by Hart, Schaffner & Marx. 
Mah Jongg and Hatchet men. A 
strange people — whose speech is song 
and whose music is discord. Incense 
and other odors too numerous to men- 
tion. Silly idea this rice on graves — 
yet the dead can't smell flowers! 

Buddha — Joss — The Six Companies. 
Lotteries and chop sticks. "Clever 
people — these Chinese." 

The San Franciscan 


The Cream of the Mode 


HAT ''chic" is dependent on 
generous purse-strings is an 
obvious fallacy but one held 
by a surprisingly large number of 
women. The most striking contra- 
diction of that claim is to be found in 
the saleswomen of any smart American 
specialty shop. These women invari- 
ably achieve smartness via the simple 
and fitting — and that is about all 
there is to the much-mooted quality 
of "chic." Of course the touch of 
judicious ornament or trim at the 
strategic point and suavity of color 
combination are important. 

Temptations to over-dress beset the 
person with a fat check book on ever\' 
hand. She is prone to buy fads on 
first sight — fads that the wrong type 
embrace. Whereas the woman of 
limited means and good taste must 
consider carefully lest she make a 
mistake that will prove fatal to her 

The wise woman knows that a 
smart gown cannot do all; her hat, 
shoes and bag must be on a par with 
her dress. And, if she is limited 
financially, she will choose a charm- 
ing gown of less expensive material 
but good line and put the surplus into 
the accessories that go to make up 
the correct ensemble. 

Creamy white velvet has taken 
leading place in the inner circle this 
season. The richness of this fabric is 
sufficient of itself in gowns; but many 
of the evening wraps are featuring fur 
combinations. Most popular of all is 
the glorious white fox, sometimes a 
wrap carrying two entire skins with 
heads crossed at the back of the neck. 
On the tall, slender woman this is 
luxury en regie. 

Emeralds, carnelian, jades in plati- 
num or dull beaten silver, silver with 
white, red and green gold combina- 
tions, mirror-cut diamonds and mirror- 

cut crystals — all these come into vogue 
with the white velvet frock in such 
combinations as the purse allows. 
Pearls are not. for some strange rea- 
son, much worn with ivorj' velvet. 

When pearls come into the picture 
they are wrought cleverly into the 
gown as in the accompanying illus- 
tration which has a panel of seed 
pearls on the bodice. 

Most important is the draping of 
the velvet gown. The lines of the 
figure must be maintained at all costs; 
the svelte look must be there as surely 
as if the gown were done in satin. 
Drapery must be pinned by an expert 
or by one who has the feel for it to a 
marked degree. 

It is exceedingly modish now to 
affect a color eccentricity, many of the 
smartest women choosing the pigment 
which is most flattering to their type 
and repeating it in its varying shades, 

iConlimied on pago 52) 

The San Franciscan 



The Bookstall 

THE Christmas rush, where every 
sort of book is reviewed and 
purchased, has, thank Heaven, 
faded into the haze of yesterday. It 
is time to begin the more pleasurable 
and sensible task of considering those 
books which might really be worthy 
of discriminating taste. 

The most important book of the 
year just passed, is "The World of 
William Clissold," by H. G. Wells. 
Before taking it from the Ayers 
Library, I learned from them that 
many readers did not come back for 
the second volume. But I am sus- 
picious of some readers having given 
oblique reasons for their non-interest. 
This novel at times separates its 
storj-thread so completely from its 
philosophy, that one has the impres- 
sion of reading essays; these being on 
most of the things that go to form a 
complete mind. What might be called 
the climax of the novel, comes in the 
vision of Clissold's future world. Wells 
does not depict any Utopia, but visions 
a creation in which leaders are accus- 
tomed to the management of realities. 
A world where instructed minds will 
manage world affairs on a scientific 
basis, and where religion and moral 
custom will be made over, according 
to the facts of life. The general style 
of the novel is much like his earlier 
"Tono-Bungav," and something like 
Butler's "The Way of All Flesh." I 
believe it decidedly superior to both of 
them. It is not until after you have 
finished both volumes and feel the 
sweep and immensity of the thing — 
the hopes, fears, emotions and ideas, 
that have passed and struggled before 
you — that you realize the novel has a 
vast and intense story. There have 
been many reminiscence books latelv. 
but I have found most of them like 
listening to con\ersation over tea- 
tables. Wells' reminiscences have less 
of style and perhaps less of wit, than 
the others, but they are not vapid con- 
fessions. To read "The World of 
William Clissold" is like passing even- 
ings at a comfortable fireside, dis- 
cussing the afl^airs of life with a great 


mentioned that a notable critic had 
given ardent praise to the introduction, 
saying that it alone should sell the 
book. But I pointed out to him that 
critics have a certain way of putting 
things; that praising the introduction 
had only been a non-committal way of 
saying there was nothing to praise in 
the stories. These stories are enter- 
taining, and are ordinarily good maga- 
zine stories. But I see in them, only a 
ghost of the finer Maugham, who 
wrote "The Trembling of a Leaf," and 
"Of Human Bondage," and "The 
Moon and Sixpence." I suppose most 
writers are so in need of a new suit of 
clothes, or a bag of potatoes, or a ton 
of coal, that I can readily sympathize 
with their infrequent imitations. But 
this is no excuse for Maugham. Not 
since the three mentioned above has he 
turned out a reallv first rate book. He 

* * * 

A RECENT chat with a friend whom 
I met in Mr. Lord's little book- 
shop in Los Angeles brought up the 
question of Somerset Maugham, and 
his latest book. "The Casuarina Tree." 
Both of us were disappointed in this 
new volume of stories. Mv friend 


The World of William Clissold, 

H. G. Wells 12 vol.); Doran. 

The Casuarina Tree, W. Somerset 
Maugham; Doran. 

Stories and Dramas, Leo Tolstoy; 
E. P. Button. 

The Golden Key, Henry van Dyke ; 

The Understanding Heart, Peter 
B. Kyne; Cosmopolitan. 

The Hard-Boiled Virgin, Frances 
Newman; Boni & Liveright. 

has since written many stories and 
some of them have had wit; but noth- 
ing else. He has been playing around 
in this wit, which he showers fre- 
quently and softly like snowflakes, and 
trying to build stories out of it. But 
naturally, with only snowflakes he can 
only build snow men, and they soon 
melt away. 

CTUDENTS may be interested in 
picking up the new collection of 
Leo Tolstoy, called "Stories and Dra- 
mas," and published for the first time 
in English. My guess is that it will 
also be the last time in English. The 
stories are mostly so bad that it is a 
wonder they have earned a transla- 
tion. I would not be surprised if they 
were gathered together for some 
thoughtless purpose and published be- 
cause of the author's fame; possibly 
some old practise work that someone 
found in a neglected trunk (if trunks 
are ever neglected). As a matter of 

fact the stories are so unlike the work 
of Tolstoy that students will likely 
doubt his authorship of them. The 
book will probably prove to be what 
the booksellers call a "dud." I also 
have two other "duds" to review, 
about which the less said the better. 
One is "The Golden Key," by Henry 
van Dyke. Dr. van Dyke says in 
part: "I have chosen for this book a 
symbol: The Golden Key. Take it 
and use it as you will." I immediately 
think of Ben Turpin, disguised as Wis- 
dom, wearing long whiskers and gown 
and holding a mammoth yellow key. 
The book is meat for burlesque, in 
that van Dyke writes so seriously of 
such obvious things; and the wisdom 
is a little cross-eyed. Its natural 
affinities are Mother Goose rhymes 
and Arthur Brisbane's editorials. The 
other "dud" is "The Understanding 
Heart," b\" Peter B. Kyne. This tale 
of California forests, like all the rest 
of his stories, is ordinary; but as usual 
it has its bo.x-office values. We have 
acquaintances just like these three 
books. People whose bodies are well 
put up, whose faces are attractive and 
whose talk is pleasing. But they are 
blank faces, that speak of neither 
quality nor struggle; and their talk is 
meager, being without the substance 
of genuine experience or originality. 
If you fall for people of that sort, you 

may fall for these books. 
* * * 

T HAD heard several interesting 
stories about her and thought I 
should like to know her. One day I 
saw her at the Red Leaf Bookshop; 
dressed rather too exquisitely I 
thought: for she is known as "The 
Hard-Boiled \ irgin." She is the last 
brain-child of Frances Newman. The 
most apparent trait of the novel's 
style is a complete absence of any 
dialogue. But this, of course, is only 
a stunt, like making a movie without 
sub-titles, and has nothing whatever 
to do with the book's merit. In fact 
many authors have considered it be- 
fore now and passed it up. While it 
may seem remarkable, it is not a style 
likely to serve well, for its basis is too 
wholly novelty. It becomes a style 
only through not being like anything 
else; such as a house without any 
corners would be unique, but very 
tiresome and so, poor architecture. 
But there is something in the writer's 
tedious style that has nothing to do 
{Continued on paje i\) 

The San Franciscan 

Where are We Dancing To 

Is the Art of the Dance Degenerating "Circus-ward"? 


THIS question has been repeating 
itself constantly in my brain 
ever since I first came to Cali- 
fornia seven years ago; first in Los 
Angeles and then here in San Fran- 
cisco. The answer is one to which my 
ideals, my traditions and my hopes 
can never be reconciled — for we are 
dancing to the Circus instead of to the 
Temple of Terpsichore! 

Brilliantly talented, as young Amer- 
icans are, earnestly as they will study 
to a certain point of technical profi- 
ciency, great as is their natural appre- 
ciation of the real and the beautiful, 
it is as yet almost impossible to teach 
them to understand the dance as an 
art. as a means of expression of the 
emotions in perfect harmony of rhyth- 
mic movement. The comprehension 
of a technique that surpasses itself and 
becomes only an interpretive instru- 
ment of the artist's spiritual exalta- 
tion is still too fine, too far for them to 
even try to grasp. 

'T'HEIR life in art resembles this 
■*■ beautiful California; they study 
and play in the sun-filled valleys, a 
few ascend the gentle foothills, but 
they all gaze with dispassionate de- 
tachment upon the splendid snow- 
covered isolation of the Sierra Neva- 
das. Where are the pioneers who will 
endure ridicule, incredulity, laughter, 
and fight until they conquer those 
lonely heights.? Until they are found, 
the art of the dance will continue to 
retrogress "circus-ward." 

A few months ago I was in New 
York and was amazed at the quantity 
and variety of dances in the theaters; 
in every review, musical comedy, cab- 
aret or vaudeville performance I saw 
every type of pretty female executing 
every imaginable type of pirouette, 
jump, split, kick and other contortion 
that the human brain can conceive. 
Everything I saw — youth, beauty, tal- 
ent, technique, costumes, light — every- 
thing but art, everything but the idea 
of expressing through rythmic move- 
ments the melody of the artist's soul. 
Without the predominance of this 
ideal no art can live, for without it, 
what is its justification? Art is the 
perfume of our spiritual evolution; we 
go to see and hear the work of great 
artists, not to admire their technical 
achievements, but to feel, to be led by 

their finer understanding gained 
through years of lonely fighting, a few 
steps above our every-day level. 















"A ,^^ 









'^^^F ^^Ih^^I 






Theodore Kosloff 

TRANCING, most primitive of all 
the arts, most easy of comprehen- 
sion, most difficult of execution, can- 
not lose its message of super-physical 
beauty for a moment and remain an 
art. Older than speech, the most pri- 
mitive instinct of man was to propi- 
tiate, to thank, to rejoice, to mourn 
with nature in movement. Through 
the ages this instinct has developed 
equally with the religious and emo- 
tional life of every race and is still 
vigorously alive in every one of us 
today. In nioments of great emotion 
we really speak, we use only move- 
ment, we clasp hands, embrace, cover 
our eyes, fling open our arms, or fall to 
the ground. Everybody feels and 
understands expression of feeling 

through dancing, and because so easily 
understood it is so difficult to do 
beautifully enough to satisfy that uni- 
versal comprehension. 

What, therefore, have the contor- 
tions that we see in every theater in 
common with the art of dancing? 
Nothing. They are a series of medi- 
ocre gymnastics. We can go to the 
circus and see feats of physical agility 
that take our breath away, and those 
that perform them are undoubtedly 
artists, but artists of the body, while 
dancers should be artists of the soul. 

CO little is known about the real art 
^ of the dance in America that it is 
a little difficult for me to explain the 
extraordinary beautifying effect, both 
mental and physical, it has upon those 
who study it. Remember though I 
am speaking of the art of the dance, 
not of the meaningless movements of 
the body usually exhibited in its place. 
There is only one lasting ideal in any 
art — the nearest possible attainment 
to perfect beauty and harmony, and 
the mere fact of a hazy understanding 
of this ideal awakening in a human 
being's brain is a beautifying influence. 

I think you do not understand how 
dancing exercises can bring about such 
a change. First realize the inertia of 
the greater part of the civilized hu- 
man's body; second, understand that 
the real classical technique of the dance 
is founded upon a very sound knowl- 
edge of anatomy, and that even the 
first simple routine of exercises uses 
every muscle in the body from head 
to foot in an anatomically correct and 
productive manner; thirdly, that un- 
der their influence the whole body 
comes to a state of perfect activity. 

Under such physical conditions the 
nerves cannot be other than strong, 
and with steady and well poised, 
peaceful nerves, certainly the mind 
becomes exceedingly active. With all 
that is alive in one working in har- 
mony to accomplish beautiful, rhyth- 
mic movements to express beautiful 
ideas to beautiful music, is it still so 
incomprehensible that artists of the 
dance carry a beauty about them that 
is an "outward and visible sign of an 
inward and spiritual grace".' 

The San Franciscan 

Winter Sports in California 


THIS year a new principality 
takes its place in the Kingdom 
of Winter Sports. The re- 
gion around Lake Tahoe, world 
famous mountain lake, will be access- 
ible by rail in winter for the first time 
and will take its place with tlie other 
popular \vinter resorts of Truckee 
and Yosemite. 

These regions have long been 
known as favorite recreational spots 
for the sportsman who yearns for the 
bracing ])leasures of the wintry fast- 
nesses, and now the picturesque coun- 
try around Lake Tahoe, world fam- 
ous mountain lake, is accessible by rail 
in winter for tlie first time. Lake 
Tahoe has been called "San Fran- 
cisco's Playground," but heretofore, 
due to its inaccessibility in the winter 
months, its recreational facilities have 
not been available e.xcept in the sum- 

Lake Tahoe is six thousand feet 
above the sea level in the Sierra Ne- 
vada, a lake so vast that a steamer 
travels 72 miles to skirt its shores. 
Its great depth prevents it from freez- 
ing over in the winter, no matter how 
low the thermometer may drop, and 
the steamer that takes visitors for the 
marvelous journey around its shores 
makes the trip twice a week in the 
winter season. With its crystalline 
waters, bordered by snow-covered 
mountains and the picturesque tav- 
erns and chalets nestling among tlie 
silvered pine trees. Lake Tahoe is one 
of America's most entrancing inland 
waters in winter as well as in sum- 

While the summer months at Lake 
Tahoe are a tonic, the winter season 
there is probaloly as wholesome and 
invigorating as at any other resort in 
the world. 

'T*HE summer activities at Lake Ta 
hoe give way to their seasonal 
counterparts when winter comes. The 
pleasures of boating, fishing, liunting. 
swimming, yachting, golf and hiking 
are forgotten in the exhilarating pas- 
times of skating, sleighing, curling, 
mushing, tobogganing and liockey. 
Three toboggan slides, one of them 
almost two miles in length, have been 
constructed at Lake Tahoe. Scores 

of toboggans, large enough to accom- 
modate eight, ten or twelve people, 
are available for the guests. The 
three slides, with high-banked turns 
and with varying degrees of speed, 
will provide thrills for even the most 
venturesome visitor. To add to the 
comfort of the participants, a donkey 
engine has been installed on each of 
the slides and the tobogganers mav 
ride back to the top of the slide and 
avoid the wearisome task of hauling 
their vehicles up the steep inclines. 

Because of the fact that Lake Ta- 
hoe does not freeze over in the winter 
time, two huge ponds have been con- 
structed. One of tliese ponds is in 
the enclosure of the huge garage, 
where ice sports ma}- be enjoyed e\en 
in the most inclement weather. The 
indoor pond is well lighted and equip- 
ped for night skating. The outdoor 
pond is the larger and will accommo- 
date those who wish to try the novel 
sport of ice sailing. Each week-end 
during the winter a carnival will 1je 
held on tlie outdoor pond, the pro- 
gram to include skating races, ski 
races, snow battles and ^nowshoe 

J.XCLUDED in Tahoe activities in 
its first season will be the unique 
pastime of sleighing with real rein- 
deer for steeds. Several of these arc- 
tic animals have been brought down 
from Alaska and at present are being 
domesticated an<l trained to pull bob- 
sleds. This unusual s]5ort will give 
the famous resort an atmosphere 
available at no other place in tlie 
country. Anotlier facility for the en- 
joyment of winter sports is the triple 
ski jump. Ski jumping contests will 
be held at each carnival. Expert ski- 
jumpers will lie in attendance, and 
amateur competitions will be held 
throughout the season. Near the edge 
of the lake special ]iatlis have been 
con.structcd for indiviilual .^leds and 
bobsleds that will accumnv.idate twenty 
passengers. Snowsboe and skiing 
trips have been arranged to nearb\- 
resorts fringing tlie lake, under the 
direction of experienced guifles. The 
saddle horses of the summer paths 
will be at the disposal of the guests 
for snowsboe gallo])s or "skiioring," 
as it is known in tlie lexicon of winter 

sports. The liorses will be equipped 
with snowshoes that will enable them 
to traverse the deepest drifts. Alas- 
kan dog teams will be at tlie disposal 
of Tahoe visitors for sleighing trips 
through the picturesque region sur- 
rounding the lake . More than a score 
of these malamutes have already ar- 
rived from the Yukon with their 
famous mushers in charge of them. 

'TpIIE Lake Tahoe region becomes 
accessible this season through the 
construction by the Southern Pacific 
Company of a broad-gauge railroad 
from Truckee to the lake and the in- 
stitution of through Pullman service. 

The usual annual winter sports will 
be enjoyed at Truckee, which is al- 
ready widely famed as a popular win- 
ter resort. Truckee is picturesquely 
situated in the Sierra Nevada, on a 
bend in the Truckee River where it 
Hows out of Lake Tahoe, which is 
just fifteen miles fnjm Truckee. 

Famous among tlie di\-ersions at 
Truckee are the moonlight sleighing 
parties to historic Donner Lake. 
llobart Mills and the lloca Ice Pond 
are other favored spots wliere skating 
and other healthful winter sports may 
lie enjoyed. .At Truckee. as well as 
Lake Tahoe, tobogganing will lure 
the thrill-seekers, while skating, ski- 
ing and mushing with dog teams are 
always popular. 

Y()SE:\IITb:, one of the world's 
wonders, and famed tbrougliout 
the universe, jiresents an unforget- 
table picture when clothed in the 
.'>now King's white mantle, (^wing 
to the long shadows in Yosemite \^al- 
ley, there is almost always snow, 
after the first fall, on the south side 
of the valley. Horseback riding and 
iiiking are early winter favorites in 
this picturesque region. To tliese are 
added, as the winter deepen-;, all the 
other sports on winter's diversified 
program. Winter guests at Yosemite 
will be accommodated at the Sentinel 
I lotel, where skates, wearing apparel, 
cutters and other facilities will be 
available. Ice skating in the valley, 
skiing, tobogganing, snowshoeing and 
other winter sports are on die pro- 
gram for the season at Yosemite. 


IS can 

When the Snow Kintr Dron^ h;/c-i x, . ^^> 

^ "'' ^'^^^^ ^^^'^ntJe on the Golden Sr.r. 

^- Donald Bartlctt 

™ .7^".v/0'- 0/ San Francisco. 
S- .SU'whmg Party at ioscmiu: 
■/■ M'ss Joseplnne Bernard and Mis, 

. w''''''';! t''."-.v/<7//a of San Francisco 

'■ sonZ7%u.''r''" ■"'''' ^'"■'"'« ^"/"'- 
•foil 0/ .•>„„ Francisco. 

r. ^|Jss Esu;U- Taylor of San Fran- 
n l".'"'!'?''""'.0 ot Tahoc. 

The San Franciscan 



Investments vs. Unfinished Business 

(EDITOR'S NOTE. For the benefit and informa- 
tion of the readers of THE SAN FRANCISCA^ 
it is planned to publish the knowledge and opinion 
of those authorities in our community on the 
certain subjects which are interwoven with Finance 
and Investment. The article appearing in this 
issue by R. B. Randolph, Trust Officer of the 
Anglo and London Paris National Bank, explains 
to the layman the duties and capacities of Trus- 

THOSE who are prudent give con- 
siderable thought to the prob- 
lem of their present financial 
security and to the security of their 
dependents for the future. It is not 
entirely a problem of the getting, but 
it is likewise one of disposing. For 
the average man the latter is the 
hardest, ofttimes because it is the 
thing he dislikes to go into, perhaps 
because he thinks the necessity too 
remote. But if he is a man of respon- 
sibilities and if he is to do that duty 
which he owes himself and his family 
he must think and he must listen and 
he must learn about things such as 
wills, such as executors, and such as 
trustees, for in all of these his own 
future, his own business and the happi- 
ness of himself and his family are so 
closely interwoven that it becomes 
more of a necessity than a duty. 

Your so-called investments of today 
are to be at some later date (very much 
later we all hope) referred to as your 
estate. The trouble and time you 
have given up to the wise selection of 
these, possibly a life-time, the money 
which has had to be accumulated to 
purchase them now demand that the 
same earnest consideration be given 
them again as to how they will be 
handled and by whom when these 
same stocks and bonds, which you now 
call investments, are called your "Es- 

It seems, therefore, that there is no 
good reason why at this time advant- 
age should not be taken of those safe- 
guards which are readily available for 
the protection of your family and "that 

Everyone who has any of this world's 
goods, whether it be in the form of 
stocks, bonds, other personal property, 
or real estate, regardless of how large 
or how small, has the right of directing 
how this accumulation shall be pro- 
tected during a life-time and how it 
shall definitely be handled thereafter. 

There are many simple ways of ac- 
complishing this. First, if it is felt 


that you wish to handle your own per- 
sonal affairs while living, so good. This 
can be done and very easily too, by the 
creation of a voluntary trust whereby 
you may retain the personal direction 
of the investments and the income dur- 
ing your life-time, after which the mat- 
ter takes care of itself. On the other 
hand a simple form of instrument 
called a will devised by our laws where- 
by the direction of what is to happen to 
3-our so-called estate may be governed. 

It is not only an important feature 
but a great consolation in knowing at 
this time who the responsible party is 
going to be who will handle that estate 

R. B.F. Randolph 

Trust Officer, Anglo London Paris National Bank 

which you have accumulated during 
your life-time, to feel that responsi- 
bility and to name that particular in- 
dividual or corporation, for either may 
act in this capacity. 

In days gone by friends were called 
upon to act as executors and trustees of 
estates, but with time this has become 
old-fashioned, until today the average 
individual believes that the corpora- 
tion should be the one nominated to 
handle these afi^airs — and why.'' The 
answer is a true one because the corpor- 
ation is an everlasting fiduciary — it is 
honest and can exercise that good judg- 

ment through its responsible official 
staff, and again it is never too much 
trouble for the corporation to act in 
this capacity as it might be for a friend. 
It is its duty. 

Why then should not each and 
everyone of us at this time when con- 
sidering our present investments or 
those which we intend purchasing in 
the early part of this new year, more 
definitely consider the question of put- 
ting into efi'ect immediately such in- 
structions containing our desires, either 
by making our will with suitable trust 
provisions now or discussing with some- 
one familiar with this type of work 
other means of accomplishing the pur- 
pose we have in mind 1 

It cannot be pointed out too strongly 
that every man or woman, whether 
with dependents or not, should at least 
make a will or enter into an agreement 
of some nature, whereby the adminis- 
tration of a so-called trust during their 
lives will be an efficient one and still re- 
tain that feeling that thereafter a cap- 
able, efficient and everlasting corpora- 
tion will be the director of your business 
at some future time. 

It should be borne in mind that 
home-made legal documents of any de- 
scription are usually dangerous — more 
particularly concerning a will or a 
trust agreement. Every individual 
should consider the making of a will 
not only a privilege but, as has been 
said, a duty. It should not be consid- 
ered as a troublesome matter or as 
something that can wait or be put 
aside. It is no more difficult than that 
of taking out a life insurance policy or 
of deeding a piece of propert}\ and it 
may be kept in mind that a will can be 
changed at any time to suit changed 
conditions, and just so with a living 
trust agreement. 

What is designated in the trust fund 
goes to those who are provided for if 
the provision has been made and is se- 
cured for them for as long as your 
wishes have provided in the agreement. 

There is a fundamental argument of 
prudence which makes the considera- 
tion today of the living trust advisable 
for the men or women who are thinking 
of their families' future protection. 

It is, of course, always advisable to 
consult with those whom you are sure 
can give you the proper advice and the 
benefit of their good counsel and judg- 
ment in matters of this nature. 

The San Franciscan 

■)-v. \ '■< 

Use your Bank's 
FULL service! 

i#'?^^ ' -i 



JVhat are 


EX'ERY man of great responsibilities has used the Trust De- 
partment facilities of his bank in some emergency — perhaps as 
trustee of a corporate bond issue, as an agent for the custody 
of securities, as a fiscal or paying agent or depository. 

Still, few men know, from personal experience, the jull extent of 
usefulness of a Trust Department such as The Anglo's. It can be 
executor or trustee under wills; a trustee of living trusts for the 
benefit of the maker or others, a transfer agent or a guardian, an 
assignee in a receivership, a trustee in escrow transactions. 

A quarter of an hour, some time when you are in The Anglo, can 
almost certainly place you in possession of new knowledge of the 
breadth of modern trust department facilities. It will be a quarter 
of an hour that may some day — perhaps tomorrow — save you days 
or months of personal time and responsibility. 


(Trust Department) 

The San Franciscan 



(Continued from page 12) 

put it in words and it won't be easy for 
you to realize what I'm saying — but 
oh, you must! As Lawrence Warring's 
wife I've been in prison and my heart 
has beaten against invisible bars which 
held you from me I Tonight — I broke 
those bars and I came here — and — 
and you won't realize what it means 
to me. I — I lo\"e you so. 

{He sits dozen again. When he 
speaks there is a conscious effort at being 

Grey: Sj'dney, it means too much 
to both of us to spoil it. Have you 
had an understanding with Larry.' 

Sydney: What do you mean? 

Grey: I mean, does Larry know that 
you've left him.' 

Sydney {She laughs, not pleasantly; 
there is no mirth in it): Oh, yes — Larry 
knows I've left him. 

Grey: Are you sure.' 

Sydney {She nods): Quite! 

Grey: Does he realize you're in earn- 
est.' That you don't intend to return 
to him.' 

Sydney: He knozcs I'll never go 

Grey: How did he take it.' 

Sydney: He feels badh- now, but 
he'll get over it — Larry will. 

Grey: Sydney, has he any idea 
where you are.' 

Sy'dney: Yes, he knows where I am. 

Grey: You mean he knows you're 
here — at this time of night — alone — 
with me? 

Sydney: No, dear, not that: that's 
the farthest thing from his mind. 
He's not worrying zvhere I am, he 
just feels badly that I've gone. 

Grey: Sydney, I don't understand 
you. You talk in such vague circles. 

Sydney: Richard dear, don't try to 
understand. All I want is to have 
you come with me, to tell me that you 
love me and to know how much I love 
you — that I've always loved you and 
— that the moment I was — free — I 
came to you! 

Grey: But, Sydney, you're not 
free; not while you're Lawrence War- 
ring's wife. 

Sydney {She rises slozvly. Her 
voice is zveary): Richard, is there no 
way that I can make you understand 
that I am free? that I've left Larry 
for ever and ever: 

Grey {He rises. They face each 
other): Sydney, I love you so much I 
can see only one way out. You go 
back tonight — and tomorrow . 
oh, Sydney, it won't be long before we 
can begin life again together. 

Sydney {She is crying softly): And 
vou won't come with me? 

Grey: Because I dare not! 

Sydney: \'ery well, Richard, I'll go, 
but not back to Larry. You see — 
that's impossible. I'll go alone where 
I wanted to take you. As for tomor- 
row . well 

Gv.KY{He steps nearer to her): Sydney! 
{His arms go out.) Kiss me good 

Sydney {She steps back aioay from 
him, shaking her head): That is impos- 
sible, too. {She moves to center stage. 
Her voice is flat and colorless as she 
says softly:) Good bye, Richard. 

Grey {He attempts a brave cheerful- 
ness): Not good-bye, Sydney! Why, 
there's tomorrow and tomorrow and 
. . . Now, I'll call a cab. {He 
goes to the telephone. She picks up her 
cape and, trailing it behind her, crosses 
the stage slowly to the bedroom door. 
She turns on the threshold and says:) 

Sydney: I'm going to straighten my 
hair. {She disappears. He picks up 
the receiver.) 

Grey: Graystone 4500, right. 
Hello, Richard Grey speaking; will 
you send a cab at once to my apart- 
ment? Thank you. {He hangs up 
the receiver and walks over to the fire- 
place. He stands lost in thought for a 
minute; then he looks at the watch on 
his wrist, frowns and calls softly:) Syd- 
ney! {There is no answer. He calls 
louder:) Sydney! {Still no anszver. 
He looks puzzled, crosses to center stage, 
stops, then goes to bedroom door and 
calls:) Sydney! {He goes into the 
room. From within he is heard to call 
once, twice, his voice rising anxiously. 
He is heard moving about. When he 
conies back onto the stage he is plainly 
upset and excited.) 

Grey: Sydney, where are you? {He 
searches the living-room. He is bezvil- 
dered. His voice is panicky as he calls. 
He rushes into the hall, comes back and 
goes into the bedroom again. He re- 
turns and calls-?) Drake, Drake! {Drake 
appears at door at right. He has on a 
dressing gown over his pajamas and 

Dr.-vke: Why, what is it, Mr. Grey? 

Grey: Drake, something has hap- 
pened! A woman was here in this 
room with me less than fifteen min- 
utes ago. She went into my room to 
fix her hair while I called a cab to 
take her home, and now 
{He stops helplessly.) She's gone! 

Drake: Gone? 

Grey: Yes, gone, I tell j-ou, from 
m}- bedroom. 

Dr.xke: Beg pardon, sir, but that's 
impossible. There's no way to get 
out of the apartment from your bed- 

Grey: But I tell vou she did. 

Drake: Perhaps, sir, she left by 
the front door. I'll see. {Drake goes 
out into the hall. Richard Grey searches 
the bedroom again. They re-enter the 
room simultaneously. Grey's face is 
pitiful; Drake's is questioning.) 

Drake: Mr. Grey, are you sure 
there was someone here tonight? 

Grey: Good God, of course I am! 

Drake: But, sir, the front door 
hasn't been opened since I locked it. 
The burglar catch is still on. 

Grey: Drake, do you doubt my 
word ? 

Drake: Well, sir, it's only that I 
don't see how a woman got in and 
out again without opening the door! 

Grey: But I tell you she did — and 
we've got to find her. Drake, you 
search every inch of this apartment. 
I'm going down to talk to the door- 
man. {He exits through door at right; 
Drake enters bedroom shaking his head. 
The phone rings. Drake comes out and 
answers it.) 

Drake: Hello. Yes, this is 1109. 
No, this is Drake speaking, Mr. War- 
ring. Mr. Grey has just stepped out. 
Is there any message? What's that? 
Mrs. Warring? She — what? I . . . 
oh . . . That's dreadful! {There 
is a long interval zvhile he listens in- 
tently.) I'll tell Mr. Grey. He'll feel 
badly, I know, sir. I'm — I'm sorry, 
sir. {He hangs up the phone, zvalks 
over and is standing looking down at 
the photograph on the desk when Grey 
returns. He is alarmed to the point of 

Grey: Drake, no one saw her come 
in, no one saw her leave — I'm . 

Drake {interrupts): Mr. Grey, I've 
bad news for you. Mr. Warring just 

Grey: Lawrence Warring? 

Drake: Yes, sir, it's — it's about 
Mrs. Warring. 

Grey {his face lights up with relief): 
She's at home? 

Drake: Yes, sir, I don't suppose 
they'll move her until the storm is 

Grey: Move her? What do you 

Drake: She's dead, sir! 

Grey: Dead! 

Drake: She died about half an hour 
ago. Mr. Warring said, sir, that she 
asked for you toward the last. They 
think she had something to tell you, 
but she died before they could get the 
call through to tell you to come. 

{Richard Grey steadies himself. He 
passes his hand over his eyes like a man 
in a dream. He murmurs:) 

Grey: And I couldn't understand 
that she was free! 


The San Franciscan 

The Book Stall 

(Continued from page 24) 

with frame-work and is much more 
important; something of an impish 
cleverness, as if someone with a care- 
fully appraising eye were looking in at 
your windows and watching you live. 
And the awareness of that quality 
grows on you as you read farther along. 
It comes like slow, monotonous music; 
boring you at first, then clutching 
your attention, and finally fascinating 
you as you realize its significance. And 
that redeeming virtue is, that the 
thoughts as well as the words, are so 
shrewdly and quickly insinuating. 
When the author seems to be offering 
3'ou a glass of sweet cherry-punch, you 
drink and find (delightfully) that it has 
been charged with Scotch. She has 
carried this insinuating mood to such 
length that she has proven the para- 

dox of a very educated and traveled 
girl, being actually a very shallow one. 
She has shown subtly what in certain 
persons has been so obvious: that 
they have imagined reading proper 
books, going with prominent people, 
and traveling abroad, has in itself 
made them learned; while ten minutes 
conversation would show they have 
had no consequential contacts. They 
are like some of our late second lieu- 
tenants, who learned the manual of 
arms, peeked into a few barracks, put 
on a gas-mask, and imagined they had 
experienced army life. I wish this 
book might find its way to a certain 
landlady I once had in \'irginia. But 
it probably won't, for such a delicious 
novel is only for the more civilized 

Fragments of the Nineties 

Continuation from page 7 

Louis Parrotts have the most ideal 
situation. They have their summer 
home in San Rafael which permits 
them an occasional visit to town 
without an apparent break in the 
summer festivities. They are now 
back for the winter. I met Louis on 
Montgomery Street yesterday and he 
wished to be remembered to you. 

I met Charlie Blinn this morning 
and he informs me that a wedding of 
prominence in Alameda circles took 
place a short time ago. This was the 
union of Jean Russell and Edgar 
Painter. It is my recollection that 
you do not know them, as I did but 
slightly. She is the daughter of the 
John A. Russells of Alameda and he 
is the son of the late Jerome Painter. 
Charlie said that the wedding was a 
delightful affair and took place in 
the Alameda home of the Russells. 

I must bring this letter to a close 
as every minute now is an encroach 

ment on a luncheon engagement with 
Fred Crocker. However, in closing I 
must mention a matter that very 
nearly slipped my mind. You, of 
course, remember that very good 
friend of mine, Dr. Leonard Wood, 
the army physician that has been 
stationed at the Presidio. Leonard 
has obtained a two-months' leave of 
absence to go to Washington where 
he is to be married to a Miss Condit- 
Smith of that city. The couple may 
go to New York on their wedding 
journey. He inquired as to your 
address with the hope that you would 
show them the city. I assured him 
that to do such would prove a great 
pleasure to you. This, I am sure will 
prove to be the case. 

Hoping that this letter will find you 
in the best of health, 

I am your sincere friend, 

William . 

Katherine Church 

43 E. 50th St., 
New York City 


Bags, Bon Voyage 

. . . and . . . 

Useful Tra\elling 





Sutter and Jones Street 

Five and six room unfurnished 

.All modern conveniences 

Excellent service 

Gertrude Wood 
-Leon Habit 
Flower Shop 

229 Post Street 

You are cordially invited to visit 
our new Store 

The San Franciscan 





Rue Royale 


Fifth Avenue 

540 Sutter Street 
San Francisco 

Soigne — The Cream of 
the Mode 

(Continued from page 23) 

throughout their entire wardrobe from 
morning clothes to evening gowns. 
The black eccentricity is smart to a 
degree in women fortunate enough to 
be chic in this trying color. These 
stunning creatures — and one sees many 
of them in Paris these days — go about 
in black sports frocks even, and give 
the appearance of beautiful young 
widows. The dresses are simple in 
cut and unrelieved by trimming. 

The light chiffon frock is smart for 
the less formal occasion. It must 
have the floating look that was the 
key to chic last year. But this season 
the float must be combined with more 
sculptural body lines in the hip sec- 
tion of the gown. The "Egyptian 
girdle" of chiffon, often metal em- 
broidered, fills this need, sharply out- 
lining the curve of beautiful hips. It 
is at once the delight of the slender 
woman and the despair of her heavy 

Blue has crept into the mode but 
green in all its variants still holds its 
place in the world of chic. This gra- 
cious color adapts itself to frocks for 
all occasions. 

Beige and brown still rule sports 
frocks, particularly the woolen types. 
And the felt hat is still monarch 
although the crown line has changed 
radically. But the brim must ripple 
and must be turned down. 

Dame Fashion is acquiring a way of 
late, of making some absolute decrees 
and this one regarding the hat is 
among the foremost of her edicts. 


* * * 

Bihtis and Jean 

{Continued from page IT) 

risies. It is a perfume concocted by 
a man, it is impure. \\ e used spike- 
nard and myrrh. 

Jean: You knew no better. 

BiLiTis: Your breasts are little, re- 
fined, seditious. The}' droop like dy- 
ing lilies. They are sorrowful. Your 
feet are cramped and ugly. They are 
pathetic like a humpback is pathetic. 
Your men are ugly — 

Je.\n: Then your maidens did have 
breasts like autumn apples and your 
men hyacinthine hair.' 

BiLiTis: Yes. 

Jean: But we do not want men with 
hyacinthine hair. We admire straight, 
precise, wetted hair, brows lined with 
perplexity, eyes narrowed with pain, 
and eyelids heavy with weariness. 

Cyffering for your 
consideration new 
Spring Footwear 
daily arriving . . . 






The San Franciscan 

BiLiTis: They are ugly, these men of 
yours. We were beyond you, even 
then, way beyond — 

Jeak: Look at this diamond. It has 
a beauty and a value you are not able 
to appreciate. It represents gold, ex- 
plorations, intellect, imagination, skill, 
hardness, cruelty, sophistication, 
strength, the slaying of the heart 
even; there are centuries of suffering 
and of science between you and it. 
Look at it! It glitters victoriously. 
Flawless, bought with labor, eyesight, 
greed, beauty, kisses and duplicity. 

BiLiTis: Nevertheless, my coral — 
It is beautiful without all that. 

Je.\x: Yes, of course, your coral is 
beautiful. But for us coral is some- 
thing decadent and complicated, worn 
in a moment of weariness and relaxa- 
tion. \\'hile for you it is — simply pink. 

BiLiTis: Even so, I should rather be 

Jean: So should I. 
* * * 

About Art and Artists 

HAIG PATIGAN'S selection of 
Helen Wills as a type of Ameri- 
can girlhood beauty is quite 
justified by the altogether lovely bust 
of her he has just completed. The 
classic modeling portrays a type of 

beauty that scorns prettiness. 

^ ^ ^ 

\yT'.RXER B. DREVVES, the Ger- 
^^ man artist who did the interest- 
ing etching of the Telephone Buikling 
appearing in this issue, has left for 
Europe, going by way of the Orient, 
where he plans to spend some time 
sketching. Ticfore leaving, Drewes an- 
noimced his intention of returning to 
San Francisco to make his permanent 
home. I-Ie will be more than wel- 
comed, for his work has established 
him as an artist of unusual rank. 

^ % af: 

D.VLPH STACKPOLE is working 
on an over-fireplace panel in re- 
lief for the home of Col. C. E. S. 
Wood. Stackpole is working in mod- 
ern idiom in a way that finds favor 
among art ])atrons. 

% ^ =^ 

did the exquisite miniatures of 
Mrs. W'alter Ehlers Buck, is now 
painting a miniature of the young 
artist, Ward Montague. Montague, 
himself, has recently completed four 
heroic figures for a war memorial to 
be erected in Martinez. Working in 
concrete, the young sculptor achieved 
a conventionalization of soldiery that 
makes of the figures symbols rather 
than representations. 

The Bennett 

his usual unrestrained and most 
passionate manner, has again 
frothed in rage, this time literally — 
on one of his wigs — which he hurled 
at iiis Saturda}- night audience at the 
Columbia Theater. 

We were not present at the per- 
formance, but friends who attended 
tell us that a small and quite unmoved 
audience allowed ISennett and his com- 
pany t(5 do the piece with a minimum 
of encouragement from the house. 
After the last curtain the audience 
moved to go, but The Bennett, over- 
flowing with bile and luicontroUed 
bilge, dashed to front stage and liter- 
ally _\elled to the audience that he had 
something to sav. and he saiil it. Said 
in substance the San Francisco which 
had welcomed him v>-ith a unique and 
cosmopolitan acclaim before the great 
fire was no more ; that so far as he 
could percieve it was peopled with 
dodos who didn't know a good thing 
set before them. He then pulled a 
beautiful bit of pantomime, wherein 
he yanked ofl: his wig, spit on it and 
hurled it into the audience. As one 
of the castigated remarks, Bennett 
fortunately chose the other side of the 
footliglits for this new role. America 
will never have the privilege of again 
seeing Isadora Duncan, and let's hope 
so far as Bennett is concerned that San 
Francisco will be stricken from his 
itinerary. To our mind nothing re- 
mains but for Bennett and good old 
loud-voiced Billy Sunday to pair ofif 
and give Pantages a thrill. 

^ ^ ^ 

Telephone Building 

In an effort to typify the growth of 
San I'rancisco, the San Franciscan 
has used, as a frontispiece for this 
issue, an etching of the Telephone 
Building arising in its splendor amidst 
the squalor of the surrounding neigh- 

Considered a tyi)ical example of the 
American receding plan of construc- 
tion, the building stands as a fitting 
monument to the telephone industry 
and the men and women of San Fran- 
cisco who made it possible. 

The ])oints of vantage on the roof 
of the building offer the observer a 
wonderful birdseye view of the citv 
and the bay district. Guides are main- 
tained to conduct visitors to various 
points of interest in the structure, and 
the telephone company has extended 
a cordial invitation to everyone to take 
advantage of the inspection privileges. 








114 Sansome Street 
San Francisco 

The San Franciscan 

Imported from San 

{Continued from page 13) 

"Just which days do you mean?" I 
felt rather smug about this inquiry. 

"Why, when I was writing for Scrib- 
ner's," he replied. "You see, I just 
had to ask them where they'd like to 
have us go, and off we went, contract 
in the pocket, and no worries about 
whether the articles and sketches 
would find a market. It was very 
nice." I agreed to this rather heartily, 
and proceeding on the old theory that 
one thing always leads to another, I 

"Perhaps you are planning another 
trip out West — er — shortly?" 

"We were there last year," he 
sighed. "I had been doing a set of 
murals for the William Bourn home 
down the Peninsula, and they were 
hung in the fall." 

Now we were on the firm ground of 
his art — and he told of his visit to 
Muckross, the Bourn estate on the 
Lakes of Killarney in Ireland, where 
he made the sketches for the ball- 
room paneling in the great Georgian 
home near San Francisco. He spoke 
of his joy in creating the murals I had 
seen in the Seaman's Bank, and told 
about painting the canvases in France 
last summer, having received word of 
his selection as artist just two days be- 
fore sailing from New York. He made 
no attempt to disguise the real glee he 
must have felt at this high honor — 
there is nothing blase and high-hat 
about Ernest Peixotto, Chevalier of 
the Legion of Honor, Chairman of the 
American Committee of the Fontaine- 
bleau Art School — and a dozen other 
things. That is part of his greatness. 

We wandered eventually into a 
little room off the large studio— a 
room that is so French in its furnish- 
ings and atmosphere that one almost 
expects to hear the shrill Paris taxi 
horns honk. A room hung with lovely 
old originals, where Peixotto, the 
wanderer, seems much at home. He 
started talking about the last Beaux 
Arts ball — Parisian atmosphere, life 
and figures. I leaned forward eagerly 
— here was copy. But alas! we were 
interrupted. Later, as I rode down 
nine floors in the elevator, I enter- 
tained myself with pictures of Ernest 
Peixotto at the masked ball — he and 
his artist wife very gay, very young 
and delightful. 



One of the Oldest Banks in California, 
the Assets of which have never been increased 
by mergers or consolidations with other Banks 


526 California Street, San Francisco, Cal. 
DECEMBER 31st, 1926 

Assets $111,776,567.46 

Capital, Reserve and Contingent Funds 4,550,000.00 

Employees' Pension Fund over $565,000.00, 

standing on Books at 1.00 

MISSION BRANCH Mission and 21st Streets 

PARK-PRESIDIO BRANCH Clement St. and 7th Ave. 

HAICHT STREET BRANCH Haight and Belvedere Streets 

WEST PORTAL BRANCH West Portal Ave. and Ulloa St. 

Interest paid on Deposits at the rate of 

FOUR AND ONE-QUARTER (4H) per cent per annum, 




General Publishing 

35 Years Experience in All Branches 
of the Printer's Art 

Phillips & Van Orden Co. 

511 Howard St. Sutter 970 



o o 

J'ATi /Tancijc© .^^^^ pa?i 



illy-August. 15)27 



tXPRE-^^IOn or THE 

rRcncn civilizatioh 




IKIT 11/ 

P ^ h A U LT 

7IQ riPTl-l AVtnUE 
^KVIC& .XTATlOn &. PACT/- 
778 786 eievenTl-l AVE: 

JI950 TO S I2000 







mm mm 






Post Street at Grant Avenue 

San Francisco 

1 L 


T/ic Theatre 

TiiK Ci'rran; Lrjve in a Mist, with Madge 
Kennedy and Sidney Blackmer. 

TiiK LuRii;: The Harem, with Mary Dun- 
can and all star cast. 

Ai.cazar: Meet the Wife, with Marion Lord 
and John Stokes. 

Pri;siui;\|-: The Ghost Train, with the 
Hcnr\ Duffv Plavers. 


San Matko Philharmonic Society: .At 
Woodlawn Theatre, Hillsborough, Sun- 
day, July 24, Ossif Gabrilotcitsch con- 
ducting. Symphony No. 6, "Patheliqiie" 
(Tschaikowsky) ; Two Nocturnes (De- 
bussy) ; Overture to "Willkim Tell" 

San Francisco Symphony Orchestra: Xi 
Civic Auditorium, Tuesday, July 26, Os- 
sif Gahrilouilsch conducting. Same pro- 
gram as above concert. 

San Francisco Symphony Orchestra: .At 
Civic Auditorium, Tuesday, August 2, 
Alfreil Hertz, conducting. Overture "/// 
Springtime" (Goldmark) ; Symphonv Xo. 
5 "From the \e:c U'orl.i" (Dvorak); 
"The Pines of Rome" (Respighi). 


California: Chang. Life in the Siamese 
jungles thrillingly told. 

Sr. Francis: lieau Geste, return eng.agement 
at popular prices. 

Wari-iei.d: First run pictures, changed 
weekly; Fanchon and Marco's Ideas, with 
Walt Roesner. 

Granada: T/ie Dnma/i Sisters on stage and 


In order that the San Fran- 
ciscan will be on the news 
stands and in the hands of our 
subscribers simultaneously with 
other magazines of the same 
date the present issue is dated 


'beginning with 
this Issue 


will be published on the twen- 
ty-fifth of the month preceding 
the date of issue. This change 
does not involve the loss of a 
single copy as subscriptions will 
be automatically extended and 
Advertising contraas will be 
adjusted to the new dating. 


Cai.h^ornia Palace of the Legion of 
Honor: Textiles, costumes and other art 
objects from the collections of the late 
Mrs. Phoebe .Apperson Heart. Archer M. 
Huntington collection of old French fur- 
niture and tapestries. Chinese and Korean 
art objects, recent gift of .Albert M. 

De Young Memorial Mvsei'm: Paintings 
by California artists, including 31 can- 
vases of the .Alice Skae collection. 

Pai'i. Elder Gallery: E.xhibition by Cali- 
fornia artists. 

Galerie Beaux Arts: Closed during July. 

Will reopen in August with paintings by 

Rinaldo Cuneo and E. Charlton Fortune. 
Gi'MP Galleries: Etchings by E. Blam- 

pied, Armin Hansen, Eniil Ganzo, Lewis 

Orr .ind Roi Partridge. 
Modern Gallery: Informal summer group 

show. Puppet Players on Saturdays. 
\'icKERY, .Atkins & Torrey: Paintings by 

European and American artists. 

Worden Gallery: Works by California 

Rcstauratits and Cafes 

The Saint Francis: Dinner and Supper. 
Dancing in the Garden Room. The best 
dance music in town. 

Tait's-at-the-Beach: Sloat Boulevard. San 
Francisco's Smartest Restaurant. 

Cafe Marquard: Geary and Mason. .A cafe 
of Continental Europe in San Francisco. 

La Casa Bigin: 441 Stockton. The so called 
home of "Real Bohemians." 

The Aladin Studio: 363 Sutter. Luncheon, 
Tea, Dinner. Dancing and Revue. 

Cahiria: 530 Broadw.iy. Dinner. Dancing 
7 to 1 . Informal, inexpensive and amusing. 

The New Shanghai Cafe: 332 Grant .Ave- 
nue. Chinese and .American food. One of 
the few Oriental Restaurants in the Citv. 




JJct the eletator 


take JO// home/ 



me at bocoje. 

raaies or ia Ac gfH': 
I way,;: 
- rwcft haiit 



SAX ??.>.:.::;sco 

Califormia ait ifasoa 

jiSjjm^fime m CO) t 



Portrait by Town and Country 

Helen Wills 

Ca/ifoniia's O'jcn Ambassador to E)iglaiid and the Continent 



Boosters Apologia 

why San Francisco Must Remain the MetropoHs 

By George P. West 

EJitor's Note: George P. West is a newspaper and 
magazine writer who has lived in San Francisco for 
fifteen years. He wrote the article on California in 
"These United States," a symposium originally pub- 
lished in "The Nation," and contributed "California 
Literati" to the American Mercury last year. 

FOR two generations at least Ameri- 
cans have suffered from a bad case of 
urbismania, a word here coined to 
denote a somewhat irrational infatuation 
with city life and city bigness. England's 
Cockneys are amusing and admirable 
enough, in their way, but nobody wants 
to be one, and the highest prestige has 
gone for centuries to those who live in 
the country. Englishmen go to town 
when they must and escape when they 
can. Whereas in America the New York- 
er does an absurd amount of strutting. 
More often than not he is a native of the 
farm or smaller city, but he regards his 
migration to the metropolis in the nature 
of an escape, and for the rest of his life 
he patronizes his old friends and neigh- 

It was not alway so. Once the fron- 
tier kindled the imagination of the same 
country boys who now dream of sky- 
scrapers and crowded streets. But the 
frontier disappeared, and in its place 
came industry. Our urbismania is clear- 
ly one of the symptoms of America's 
transition from an agricultural to an in- 
dustrial nation. The eyes of every lively 
youngster now turn cityward, and the 
larger the city the more eagerly they turn. 

This is to be no peaan for the bucolic 
life. It is no etymological accident that 
the word denoting a courteous and gra- 
cious habit is urbanity. Cities not only 
wear oft' the rough edges and rebuke the 
uncouth — they also provide a sufficient 
number of like-minded individuals in 
any given category to foster and encour- 
age variation, which is to say, superiority. 
I remember suddenly believing that 
Roosevelt might be elected President in 
1912 after hearing 16,000 people cheer 
him in Madison Square Garden, and be- 
ing reminded by William Kent that what 
I had seen meant nothing. 

"Why," he said, "You^could fill Mad- 
ison Square Garden with people who 
believe it is a crime to eat eggs! " 

You could, and likewise with people 
who preferred Joseph Conrad to Harold 
Bell Wright, or El Greco to Lyendecker. 
We hear a lot about standardization in 
our cities, but it is nothing in comparison 
with the standardization in our country- 
sides and in our small towns. 

Q O: the large city rewards its lovers. 

•^ Deplore as you will its lost motion 
and liystcria, its noise and herding crowds, 
its over-supply of "smart" salesmen and 
its love of front. You must still admit 
that the city's present-day domination 
of our national life is the beginning of 
civilization in America. That, in fact, 

is very near the point of what I started 
to say. For a reaction against the city is 
well under way. And it is stronger in 
San Francisco than in most places, for 
the reason that San Francisco was so 
uniquely delightful as a small city and 
for the further reason that San Fran- 
ciscans have the habit of looking back- 
ward and exaggerating the good things 
of the past. It is part of their heritage as 
sons of men who lived an epic, and a 
very lovable part. But the reaction is 

One must take one's work with enorm- 
ous solemnit)' in New York in order to 
blind one's self to the folly of living in 
the place. In other cities, too, we are 
realizing that every additional thousand 
of population adds to the discomfort of 
getting about, and increases rents, and 
works against that informal friendliness 
of the street and shop and restaurant 
which in San Francisco particularly made 
life pleasant. 

Also there are deeper and more per- 
sonal reasons for the reaction. New York 
has been pretty well cleaned out of first- 
rate writers because these found that 
they could not do their work there. The 
life was ton stimulating, with too many 
contacts and too much shop-talk. They 
fled to the country or to smaller towns, 
whence they come in now and then to 

(Continue J to Page 32) 

Tnii San Franciscan 

Now It Can Be Told 

THE searchlight of pure reason and 
expert analysis having been turned 
on the intricacies of the local traffic 
problem, a solution for the congestion 
and confusion has been found ! No mere- 

ly indigenous experimenter could have 
delved into the complexities of the situ- 
ation and found the worm at the heart of 
the rose as has the highly praised and still 
more highly priced expert imported from 
Gotham by our studious police depart- 
ment. The traffic problem has been dis- 
solved like a mist on the mountain top, 
the disease has been diagnosed. Why does 
it take twenty minutes to traverse six 
blocks on Kearney street.' Why does the 
innocuous pedestrian take his life in the 
same hands that clutch his bundles when 
he would essay to cross one of our down 
town thoroughfares? There is one reason, 
and one only. Orderly progress is barred 
in San Francisco by, horrors of horrors, 
flowerstands on the streets, little oases on 
ground sacred to big business, uselessness 
purveyed in the very shadow of com- 

Away with these blots on our munici- 
pal escutcheon! What have beauty and 
fragrance to do with the heart of a big 
cit)'? Flowers belong in serried ranks be- 
hind plate glass at $2.50 a dozen, not 
laughing and nodding in the sun, or wav- 
ing friendly greetings through the fog. 
Remove profane hands raised against the 
utilitarian and essential stand placed to 
display the latest murder and the most 
salacious suicide, glorify the hydrant, 
guardian of our safety, trap for the un- 
wary motorist, and therefore source of 
revenue for the right arm and itching 
palm of the constabulary. But demolish 
the flowerstand, presided over by a smil- 
ing gentleman of Latin extraction, let 
100 % Americanism triumph, and traffic 
will flow like a stream, the mechanical 
lion and the footsore lamb will pass by 
in uninterrupted harmony. 

Wiiy should an efficiency expert pause 

if he aims to destroy a unique and charm- 
ing feature of San Francisco life? Why 
should he stop to think that the flower- 
stands nestle at the very curb, neither on 
street or sidewalk, obstructing nothing at 
all? Away with them, he cries, and we 
must listen, because his one cry and edict 
have been so expensi\'e that we dare not 
reason, ours but to do and die. 

A ND while we marvel at the astuteness 
of experts, and wonder that longevity 
is possible at all in modern life, we are 
forced to comment on the newest local 
sport decreed by our beneficent powers 
that be, namely, organized hero worship. 
It has grown to such a state now that the 
poor citizen, crossing the street mayhap 
to buy a harmless necesary pair of purple 
garters, pathetically striving to cater to 
his suppressed desires thereby, or the fur- 
clad matron, putting plutocracy aside, 
bended for Woolworth's hospitable doors. 

or the senile shuffle of the octogenarian 
and crippled messenger boy will be ter- 
minated in their very genesis by the im- 
petous dash of a parade. First come six 
special policemen on motorcycles, dazzl- 
ing as to star and goggles, imposing as 
to uniform and breath-taking as to speed. 
Next is a fleet of taxicabs, proceeding in 
formal rows, followed by a limousine or 
two, all racing violently either to or 
from one of our railroad terminals, to 
escort the newest hero. 

Perhaps he is the victor in the latest 
gum chewing contest sponsored person- 
ally by Wrigley, or it may be the young- 
est bathing beaut}', equipped with scant 
costume and long curls or, perchance it is 
the man who first thouirht of flavoring: 
the mucilage used on postage stamps. But 
he may be whom he may, we must parade 
to meet him, and parade him to his hostel- 
ry. What matter if dozens of us are 
slain ! Has not idolatry always demanded 
its victims? 

TN these days of thought transference, 
radio and libidos, the management of 
a downtown department store has devised 
a method of communication between 
customers and their friends that is un- 
usual and untrammeled, to say the least. 
Right inside the main entrance of the 
shop is a table, upon which rests a large 
book, of the sort in which grandfather 
used to keep his accounts. Tied to the 
book, unquestionably as a convenience to 
the customer, not in deprecation of his 
moral character, is a pencil. A sign prop- 
ped up on the table reads "Appointment 
Book." In glancing idly through the 
pages we learned that the frequenters of 
tills shop write messages to their friends, 
who subsequently pause long enough in 
their running to read. 

The lack of self-consciousness dis- 
played by our sturdy yeomanry is illum- 
inating, to say the least. Many of these 
messages are more or less uninspiring, and 
unrevealing. After all, what can one tell 
of a person's soul when he or she writes 
"I will meet you at the stocking counter," 
or "Couldn't wait any longer because 
Junior got restless." But idle curiosity 
came into its own and proudly took its 
place well in the forefront of human 
virtues when our glancing eye paused 
and was held by the following gem — 
"Helen: — Waited one half hour. Bill 
and I have gone to Redwood City for 
minister. Won't see you till after honey- 
moon. — Clarice and Bill." That was 
good, very good, but it was not all. The 
final item which suffused our timid cheek 
with a roseate hue, and prompted our 

agile mind to ponderings anent over- 
population in urban life in contradistinc- 
tion to the simplicity of natural laws, was 
this: "Flo: — Meet us at the St. Fran- 
cis Ladies' Waiting Room, this one is 

'"pHE periodic art revival typified in 
■^ our midst by a display in the show 
windows of a famous dealer in Oriental 
whatnots has been with us again. We 
gazed at the ingenious arrangement long 
and lingeringly, reminded of the com- 
ments one hears while standing awe- 
struck before some painting technically 

known as still-life. We mean the sort of 
thing where disconsolate and deceased 
ducks hang their lifeless but lifelike 
heads over the edge of a table, or that 
moving representation of some poor fish 
out of water, surrounded by glowing 
peaches, unripe grapes and rigid, martial 
bananas. "Isn't it wonderful — so real- 

So was the window. There was a little 
turtle, crawling amorously towards his 
mate. One had to look twice at the price- 
mark dangling on its neck to be sure it 
wasn't ali\e. What if the graceful plas- 
ter-of-Paris deer had detachable horns, 
whose ends did not fit exactly into place? 
The impatience of the delicately poised 
forefoot, the limpid glass eye, the sym- 
metrically ruffled hide improved on na- 
ture. Had the paltry sum of $15 been 
jingling in our outworn but faultlessly 
pressed jeans, we could have gone home 
the proud possessor of a friendly little 
bunny. It warmed the cockles of our 
cynical old heart to see several long- 
legged storks, openly displayed in this 
obstctrically informed age, their long 
necks unbent under the blows of scepti- 
cism, their beaks a bit ajar, as if waiting 
for the little diaper destined to nestle 
there so poetically. 

Tliere were countless little gnomes, 
too, each with his long white beard, de- 
signed in the days when hirsute adorn- 
ment was magnificent, before the trim 
neatness of the Smith Brothers and ch'p- 
ped severity of the post-war mustache 
came into vogue. Each darling little 
gnome was smoking his cute little pipe, 
and on each head was a little cap, red, 
blue, green, or what have you. And our 
old friend, Little Red Riding Hood was 
there, carrying her dutiful basket to lur 
ailing grandparent on the distaff side. 

And in the basket, openly flaunted, was a 
wine bottle. Quite true, we reflected, the 
dear old caraffe and the little brown jug 
would be all too soon forgotten did not 
children's lore remind us of them. 

And the piece de resistance, placed 
squarely in the center of this feast for 
the eye, was an old oaken bucket, danger- 
ously and attractively poised on the edge 
of the well, with little drops of realistic 
and motionless water scattered hither and 
yon. For the trifling sum of $650 bucket, 
rope, well and water, with a small plot 
of green, green grass could ha\e been 
ours. We were tempted, and were about 
to yield, when our bootlegger hailed us, 
reminded us of one thing and another, 
thus forcing us to relinquish even the 
most realistic water for ever. 

EMONSTRATION of the cold- 
iloodcdness of scientists in pursuit 
of their studies has recenth' come to light 
in a painful incident which occurred at 
the seal tanks of the Steinhart Aquarium 
a few days ago. Elbowing our way 
through a dense crowd we saw three seals, 
cruell)' crated, reposing on a baggage 
truck. • 


They were sobbing as if their hearts 
were rent in twain, and the big tears of 
uncontrollable emotion were furrowing 
the even smoothness of their dark, damp 

"What is the meaning of this?" we 
cried, more in sorrow than in anger. 

"They're going to Washington, D.C.," 
the keeper sadly said. "They're starting 
a zoo back there, and they ain't got no 
seals. So I got to send them, if it docs 
break me all up. They won't eat a full 
meal for six weeks at least, but they got 
to ii'i. 

A lump in our own throats, we watch- 
ed the disconsolate animals being driven 
• iway. So dignified and so helpless did 
they seem, in the abandon of their grief. 
Alas, we reflected, and again alas! Can 
this be progress, can this be civilization, 
when loyal spirits can be broken, happy 
homes disrupted, because forsooth, they 
have no seals in Washington, D.C.? 

The San Franciscan 

Never will we forget the woebegone, 
trapped look on the dumb but harrowed 
countenance of the biggest seal of all. 
He was filling his eyes with the last sight 
he ever expected to have of Nellie, his 
beautiful, shiny lady love. He understood 
only too well. He and his fraternity 
brothers were off for Washington, D.C., 
where there were no seals, destined to 
live a celibate life forever. 

-*— * 

TljrOW we do malign the great among 
lis! Yea, verily, we are blushing to 
the lessening roots of our receding hair 
because of an anecdote, bearing the stamp 
of authenticity, which we have just had 
whispered to us while chatting over our 
afternoon milk shake with a Congress- 
man recently returned from the seat of 
government. Forever blasted in our mind, 
and in yours, respected reader, must be 
the scurrilous legend anent our beloved 
Coolidge's taciturnity. This simple little 
tale may spread abroad in the land so that 
Silent Cal may come into his own again. 

We were lazily manufacturing con- 
versation with our congressional friend, 
asking disenterestedly about unimportant 
matters, such as the income tax, which 
does not affect us, the liquor question, 
which does, and other items that one 
would mention to a Congressman. After 
a brief lull in the talk, and some slight 
preoccupation of mind caused by a broken 
straw buried deep in the dregs of the milk 
shake, we mentioned the celebrated si- 
lence attributed to the President. 

"Indeed he does talk, and with anima- 
tion, too," thundered our vis-a-vis. "All 
you have to do is to broach the one sub- 
ject closest to Calvin's heart." 

"And what might that be?" 

"Well, I'd have you know that Cal 
talkeii to me for two hours not lonsi ago," 
answered our enthusiastic representative, 

"on the ground rules and excitements of 
the game ()f puichrsi!" 

I'oo gratified to answer, we accounted 
for our choking spell by the sudden and 
complete disappearance of the recalci- 
trant straw. 

The San Franciscan 


THERE was no moon or stars to 
light the way. Eternity brooded in 
the darkness. The path was narrow 
and treacherous and the abyss waited 
below with a great opened mouth. Silence 
reigned untroubled save for an occasional 
groaning of the wind. Monstrous rocks 
crouched threateningly by the way. Two 
strano-e travelers went cautiously on the 
path. Their voices frightened the silence 
and the rocks gaped suspiciously at them. 
The sound of their footsteps ruffled the 
slumbering blackness. 

One of the travelers was a ver)' old 
man, shrunken and ugly with age. He 
had no covering on his head and his hair 
dripped about his face in long thin wisps. 
The old man was very ugly. He car- 
ried with him a shabby satchel which he 
clutched hungrily. He put one foot be- 
fore the other, gingerly. He was horribly 
afraid of the treacherous path and the 
abyss below. 

The other traveller was young and 
stepped lightly with the step of youth. 
He had a beautiful face. He had come 
to guard the old man from evil, from 
robbers who might waylay him and con- 
fiscate the satchel. For in this satchel 
was an inconceivable treasure, thousands, 
hundreds of thousands, a million bank 
notes. The young man was very poor and 
with each step he repeated to himself, 
"How poor I am. How poor I am." He 
hated himself because he was poor and he 
hated the old man because he was rich. 
He said to himself: "The old man is dis- 
gusting. He is ugly, he is old and he is 
afraid to die. He does not want to die. He 
is very rich." He watched the old man 
who stepped fearfully and hated him be- 
cause he cared so much for his life. He 
said to himself: The old man's life is 
worth nothing." He repeated the words 
of a great poet: "He owes God a death." 
The young man whispered this over and 

The old man was mightily afraid of 
the blackness of the abyss but he was not 
afraid of the poor young man with the 
beautiful face. 

"There is more danger here, it seems. 
Will you carry my satchel. Yes, it seems 
the path is more dangerous here," the 
old man complained in a hushed voice, 

The Abyss 

By Elva Williams 

passing his burden to the young man. 
They went on. 

In the satchel was the young man's 
happiness. In it was a world of sound and 
color, a world of exquisite things. Rare 
books with ravishing covers were in it, 
the leisure to write his poetry and the 
power to win his love were in it. O ! his 
love was a great thing, he thought. His 
leisure and his books and his poetry were 
nothing beside his love. 

"No one knows," he said to himself. 
"No one knows where we are tonight. 
No one knows what desolation we are 
passing through." For the old man had 
kept the journey a secret. He was afraid 
some evil woidd befall him and his 
precious burden would be taken from 
him. The old man was a coward and 
afraid of things but he was not afraid 
of his beautiful companion. 

The young man followed the old man 
slowly. In his breast was a growing ha- 
tred of the withered, tottering figure 
before him. The old man would die soon, 
ver)^ soon perhaps. He would lie on a 
dirt)- bed and vile odors would emanate 
from him. The young man shuddered. 
Death was dirt)'. The abyss was cleaner 
and more merciful. His hand tightened 
about the handle of the satchel, for in 
the satchel was his love, his great throb- 
bing love. 

The young man reasoned. "The gifts 
of the gods are divided sparingly. No 
man has everything." The old man was 
rich but he did not have youth or beauty. 
The old man did not have love. One hap- 
py man was better than two discontented 
men. He could not give the old man his 
youth, his beaut)' or his love. But he could 
take the old man's money. Besides the 
old man was not a poet. "He owes God 
a death," he repeated. "It would be mer- 
ciful. It would be an act of mercy. I 
would never regret it. Why should I 
regret it.'' A strong man would do it. 

They went on and the blackness deep- 
ened. The old man emitted little ugly 
sounds of distress, while the other gazed 
fearlessly inquiringly into the tenebrous 
depths of the abyss and asked himself, 
"Am I strong? Am I strong enough?" 

The old man tripped. "Help," he 
gasped in a weak voice. The young man 

who was there to protecet him reached 
out a gentle hand and pushed him into 
the yawning darkness. All about was a 
petrific silence and the young man was 

THEREAFTER came the world's de- 
lights. He became elegant. He was 
courted, feted and honored. He imitated 
the excesses of an Oriental potentate. He 
surrounded himself with splendor and 
gaiet)' and watched the world gasp at 
jiis caprices. He developed a mania for 
big things. He bought only immense pic- 
tures. His tapestries covered great spaces 
in his halls. His marbles were of the for- 
midable stature of the old Greek gods. 
He collected books of large dimensions 
and was ill at ease because he could not 
find them larger. He had a passion for 
columns and broad staircases and squand- 
ered his gold in making them bigger and 
bigger. His bed was a monstrous thing, 
great and wide and high. He could lose 
himself in his bed. His houses were large 
beyond all saying and his longing for 
high ceilings ended in his having certain 
rooms with only the sky above. He liked 
big women with gigantic shoulders and 
Amazonian strength. He lost his desire 
for harps and delicate music. Only the 
crash of brass and cymbals aflFected him. 
No music was loud enough, deafening 
enough. He loved bright colored silks and 
had them brought to him in hundreds of 
yards, while he would sit in an enormous 
chair and run his fingers over the silk and 
pull it to him as it made an unending 
train of bright color over a polished floor. 
He wanted to dwarf himself. He felt a 
certain security in immensity. 

His first disillusion was his love. He 
came to her laden with gifts. He watched 
her eyes open in astonishment and lis- 
tened to the platitudes which flew from 
her lips. He touched her flesh and it 
was warm, lukewarm. He found in her 
touch no strange surprise. Before, he had 
wanted to squander her refreshing inno- 
cence. Now, he found her innocence 
wearisome. He discovered they were not 
destined to love each other. She was but 
another woman with a pretty face. 

Men envied his wealth and beauty 
and women clamored for his love. They 

(Continued to Page zi) 

The San ^'ranciscan 








^^^^^r '^^7 




1 1 




^K H 














I^HBft'^ jr%9laS 




The Dark Lady, a camera study by Johan Hage??ieyer 

The San Franciscan 


Edgar Saltus 

In Praise of the Last of the Pagans 

EDGAR Evertson Saltus — a name. 
The greatest American stylist is less 
tiian that. No foreign nation has 
recommended him to his countrymen. 
Poe had his Baudelaire. Whitman and 
Cabell found the suret}' of British ac- 
ceptance. But, save a few short papers 
by brave souls, Saltus lingers in literary 
oblivion. A badly written biography bears 
the name of one of his wives. Nothing 
of the artist arises from its turbid lines. 
Edgar Saltus moved silently through 
our time, writing wierdly beautiful sto- 
ries, essays, criticisms, philosophies, his- 
tories, and poems. So softly he trod few 
heard his passing. Millions know the 
forests of literature, but the dryads are 
seldom disturbed. Here was an artist not 
of this world. A fair, bright figure that 
sang the story of forbidden things. Saltus 
was the minstrel of mythology. Misun- 
derstood because he sang not in subser- 
vience. Rather he carolled as one who 
knows that faith is tinsel, but beautiful 
withal. Wise men muttered of disrespect 
and irreverance. The curious are never 

Life to Saltus was a rich wonderland 
of amusing contradictions. The decad- 
ence that was Rome. The orgy that was 
Russia. The folk lore that was religion. 
The ghosts that are ideals. Into this maze 
of shunned subjects he went unafraid 
for his heart was of faery. The darkest 
contraversial theories of the ages were 
his themes. To him they were not ab- 
struse at all. Most of them were so illy 
conceived as to be diverting. He laughed, 
and translated their obscurity into simple 
lyrics with such facility that the world 
was suspicious. Pundits were loath to 
admit the impeccable verity of his state- 
ments. They probably did not under- 
stand, or feared for their livelihood. 
Few men have been so completely master 
of interpretation. Involved and fear- 
some philosophies become opinions com- 
mon to most men, dressed in the simple 
raiment of his making. 

Single phrases evoke kaleidoscopic pro- 
cesions. Pages picture decades, and so sure 
was his artistry that drab facts of history 
become vivid moving pictures of living 

By Rex Smith 

stories. He gave to the American lan- 
guage a beauty undreamed. Slang and 
colloquial expressions melted into caldron 
of his witchery. Epigrams, metaphors, 
paradoxes, and ethereal figures of speech 
bubbled forth ceaselessly. They will be 
eternal. Pen tipped with a jewel, he wrote 
his radiant way with ink of the rainbow. 
It was not the hard, white brilliance of 
Pater. Softer than the glazed azulejos of 
Emerson. It throbbed with life that 


By Joan Ramsay 

White birds circling 

The tree-crowned cliff 

Scatter and wheel 

In bright windy space . . . 

Waves at its base 

Thunder and curl — 

Water endlessly 

Rising and falling, 

Sucl<ing and whirling . . . 

Through the sheer golden height 

From green cliff-top 

To green water 

Birds diving and soaring 

Weave a shimmering 

Pattern of wings . . . 

failed often in the synthetic imagery of 
Wilde. Here was a confident Huysmans. 
With all of the imaginative erudition, 
but more tolerance for fact. In the hey- 
day of his accomplishment, Saltus had 
no "entangling alliances" of mind. 
•*— *■ 

'T'RUE, in early life he was a disciple 
-*• of Schopenhauer and von Hartmann. 
Emerson left an imprint. Then came 
a succession of tutors — Hugo, d'Aure- 
villy, Gautier. But let that be. It was en- 
couragement rather than influence, save 
in one case. Saltus came under the spell 
of that almost divine master of prose — 
Flaubert. A comparison of Salammbo 
and The Imperial Purple shows plainly 
the kindred strains of descriptive magic. 
It is a rhythm that unrolls to a surge of 
blinding splendor or softens to a pastorale 
without breaking. There arc short, ex- 
ploding sentences that impinge their 

meaning. There are long and sonorous 
sweeps of colorful fugues. But nit more 
important that the fairy-like traceries 
of words that enchant like the echo of 
a rain-dove's crooning. The opulence 
of his genius proved his own theory that 
"the inexpressible does not e.xist." 

A story of the tsars. The Imperial 
Orgy, glows with the powerful vitality 
of that descriptive power inherited from 
Flaubert. "Without was Moscow, Rus- 
sia's Mekka. Within was the Kreml, 
Moscow's heart. I\an was an ideal tyrant. 
The Kreml was a tyrant's ideal, a city 
of assassins that looked on a city of vic- 
tims. Fortress, abattoir, seraglio, acrop- 
olis and necropolis in one, for a heart it 
was infernal. Ivan was born there, lived 
there, died there, haunts it still. It was 
not his work, it was his portrait." 

One dip into The Imperial Purple is 
proof of his amazing interpretive powers. 
It is the entire story of the dissolution of 
the Roman empire told within two hun- 
dred pages. Historians, with thousands, 
have succeeded in being merely obscure. 
The end of the Roman emperor Helio- 
gabalus is described in this astonishing 
casual way: "One day this little painted 
girl, who had prepared several devices 
for a imique and splendid suicide, was 
taken unawares and tossed in the la- 

The Pomps of Satan is just what the 
name implies, but charmingly told. It is 
brimming with witticisms, epigrams, and 
the impressions of his personal experi- 
ences. "A man li\'es as long as he desires, 
a woman as long as she is desirable." 
"Tliere are women who, on not a dollar 
more than twenty-four thousand a year, 
manage to look like angels. Only, of 
course, much better dressed." 

T_riS range was limitless. Interpreter 
again — The Lords of the Ghost- 
land is a comjjarative histor)' of religions. 
Told by a god turned minstrel. Theolo- 
gians might learn much from its pages. 
He speaks with the authority of facts 
twined into a priceless tapestry. No expla- 
nation, and no solution suggested. Just a 
(Continued to Page 31) 

The San Fran 

c I s C H N 


Enter the Orchestra Conductor 

Some Reflections Upon the Problems Confronting Wielders of the Baton 

By Ada Hanifin 

O-DAY is the era of the symphony 
I conductor. He is the lion of the 
hour. The "prima donna" of the 
age. If he be great, he is one of the 
chosen few. He is the master of many 
moods, a protean personality who can 
lend his fancv to the prismatic audacity 
of the Spanish muse or be graciously ele- 
gant with Mendelssohn. He is a com- 
posite of many temperaments. He may be 
romantic, precise, energetic, tender or 
ruthless. His knowledge of orchestral in- 
struments is microscopically complete. 
He is the artist, the musician, the \ir- 

If he is the thorough musician, not 
favored by the gods, the director un- 
touched by a spark of Holy fire, he will 
be occupied solely with the art of per- 
forming orchestral music, interpreting 
sincerely and lucidly, to the best of the 
best of limitations, the works of the 
masters and the moderns. His may not 
be the gift to guide the destinies of men 
of talent. Leaders are born, not made. 
Yet he will give the best that is within 

And if he be the professional \irtuos, 
lie will perhaps, temporarily, dazzle with 
his portraits of a few chosen composers 
with whom his own peculiar tempera- 
ment is in sympathy. 

Or he may win your favor with his 
charm and personality, and a certain 
cleverness which may be, momentarih', 
mistaken for real ability. He will prob- 
ably be adored by the fair ones. Abused 
by the critics. He is the matinee idol born 
of a new day, beside whom the hero of 
yesterday is but a pallid and insipid 

There are conductors who interpret 
music, conductors who re-create music. 
And there are conductors, a few of 
them, who would cause the composer to 
writhe in agony. (But fortunately, in 
most instances, the composer has long 
since been out of hearing distance, and 
if alive, he would perhaps prefer the 
Sting of death to the privilege of being 
present during the unmindful torturing 
of his brain child.) Each conducts, with 
his own ideas, prejudices, idiosyncrasies, 
or shortcomings. 

' I 'HERE is the conductor whose baton 
■^ becomes a thing of flame when it 
t Hichcs the colorful garb of Rimski- 
Korsakoff, and transforms drab sur- 
roundings into a shimmering Oriental 
sea. But when he would fain ride with 
the Valkyries, his magic wand is of a 
sudden replaced by a rod of iron, its 
heavy, rhythmic accent conveying an 
image of well-trained Teutonic horses 
which had learned to repeat the precision 
of the goose-step. In attempting to dis- 

O551P GAiiRii.owrrscH 
A fiirirafure by Dickenson 

cover a foreign countr)-, he loses sight of 
the gods. 

And there is the conductor whose 
tempo is seemingly sanctioned by the 
metronome, and who reads, ever so cor- 
rectly, such words as "adagio" and "con 
brio"; the conductor who regards him- 
self as an instrument, a means to an end 
— and that end is the clearest and fullest 
communication of the contents of the 
music in hand as the composer wrought 
and felt it; the conductor who makes the 
music a living part of himself and invites 
liis audience to receive his reactions to his 
impressions after it has passed through 
hisown temperament. And the conductor 

who has vision, sympathy and understand- 
ing, who is apt in the expression of uni- 
versal feeling, and who is as flexible and 
variable in his expression as expression 

Symphonic music is the highest mani- 
festation of mankind. The symphony 
orchestra is the fullest and most eloquent 
instrument of musical expression. And 
the art of conducting one of the most 
complex and exacting of professions. It 
is work that calls for a ripened mind and 
a magnificent energy. And how few of 
us when attending a symphony realize 
the scope of the conductor's achievement! 

' I 'HE most colossal figure among or- 

chestral conductors, the god of them 
all who has the world at his feet, is the 
Italian, Arturo Toscanni. His retentive 
powers are phenomenal. He has conduct- 
ed from memory the most important of 
the Italian and French operas and the 
great music dramas of Wagner, as well. 
He is untheatrical. Yet he is both bold 
and shy. He is simply genius. 

There are a number of eminent con- 
ductors who are directing the destinies 
of the great orchestras throughout the 
country. Damrosch, Koussevitzky, Stock, 
Alfred Hertz, Mengelberg, Stranzky, 
Stokowsky, Gabrilowitsch, van Hoog- 
straten and Monteux are but a few of 

Symphony has now become a part of 
the life of the people. 

It is not enough for the symphony en- 
thusiast to have his fill of orchestra music 
during the winter. He must have it in the 
summer too. New York and California, 
particularly, have spread the gospel of 
simimer symphony. But the New York 
Stadium and the Hollywood Bowl fea- 
ture open-air concerts. In San Francisco 
where the climate is temperate, the con- 
certs are held in the Civic Auditorium. 

Bruno Walter, Ossip Gabrilowitsch, 
Emil OberhofFer, Willem van Hoog- 
straten,VladimirSha\ itch, Alfred Hertz, 
Mishel Piastre) and Dr. Hans Leschke 
will conduct in San Francisco this sum- 
mer. Monteux is scheduled to appear in 
Hollywood as are Bruno Walter and Al- 
fred Hertz. 

The Pickle Market, by Howard Sitnon 

A \ihrnnt wood-cut eilipIo}ing daring tone effects. Black and 
nliitc, that clouble negation of color suffice for Howard Simon 
to develop the impression of the entire range of color, so com- 
plete is his mastery of the medium. In "The Pickle Market" 

Mr. Simon has caught the grotesque and the pathetic qualities of 
seemingly drab types. After attracting attention in Paris, Mr. 
Simon has come to San Francisco where he plans to make his home. 

The San Franciscan 

The Shouting Gallery 

Wherein We Continue To Unveil Some Terribly Intimate Portraits 

By Margaret S. Kuhns 

The Big Feller 

The stage was set for the reception, 
the plutocratic paunch pushing its prow 
forcibly forward, in recognition of its 
owner's power, the property and badge 
of a self-styled "big feller," a force to 
be reckoned with in the community. 

The appurtenances were perfect — the 
big, expensive office, the massive mahog- 
any desk, the gentlemanly secretary, and 
the wistfully apealing stenographer, the 
French telephone, the double row of 
push-buttons, the militant carnation in 
the consciously fashionable buttonhole. 

The effect had not been created over 
night. Twent}' years or more had been 
devoted to the perfecting of the picture, 
and now nothing was left to do, or so it 
seemed, except put in the fine strokes, 
the delicate lines that indicated leisure 
and success. 

There had been the beginning, the 
breaking away from the safe, conserva- 
tive course pointed out by two generations 
of plodding forebears. Business success 
was not enough — social success was emi- 
nently to be desired. The decision had 
had to be made — whether to cultivate 
prelates and their abundant followers, or 
to court the more worldly sophisticated, 
exclusive sets. The ultimate golden key 
had been in his hand, but which lock to 
tr}', there was the rub. 

And then inspiration had come ! Why 
not make of it a skeleton key, and open 
all doors at once. There was the solution ! 
And so the coat of many colors had been 
donned, the gayety of the hues covering 
the hair shirt which lay beneath. Pious 
with the prelates, ebullient with the elite, 
and always, unfailingly hospitable and 

His passage down one of the streets 
in the financial district of the city was a 
triumphal march. "Hello, Tom ! " "H'are 
you, Jim ! " "How's the wife, Howard ! " 
Eager eyes, scanning the faces of the 
passing throng, but never forgetting to 
glance often enough at the companion 
of the moment. Dozens of companions, 
of scores of busy moments, but always a 
little lack of ease, perhaps a slight over- 

Finally had come the time for the 
grand tour to Europe, with wife and 
family. A six weeks' itinerary was event- 
ually arranged for, and the "Big Feller" 
left home in the only drawing room on 
the observation car. Seasickness cramped 
geniality a bit on shipboard, but dry 
land soon restored the abundant vitalit)'. 
Through the capitals of Europe he dashed, 
always ready with odious comparison to 
things American. 

"No siree, these guys can't teach us 
anything. Look at the sissies, stopping 
everything for a cup of tea, even in the 
banks." Thus went England. "And they 
call this a traffic system? Ever)^ feller for 
liimself, and there ain't no hindmost." 
That settled Paris, but the gibe was 
studied for future reference, to be told 
over the cognac at the next domestic din- 
ner table. 

"This Mussolini certainly has some 
good ideas," grudgingly admitted, "but 
the crazy dagoes don't appreciate them, so 
what's the use. I dunno, it's a funny 
game, when a guy controls a place with 
castor oil, and plays the fiddle in his spare 
time. He'd never get by in the U.S.A." 

So the Big Feller was soon back, and 
glad to be there. 

The day after his arrival he was walk- 
ing down the street again, revelling in the 
ver)- sound of the familiar "H'are you, 
Henry!" and "You bet I like it here, 

"Me for America," he declared to his 
secretary, "where I can get good liquor 
as long as I pay for it, and where I can 
vote, and know what I think means some- 
thing, where a big feller is really big. 
But say, Stephenson, if you ever do get 
to Paris, don't miss the Folies Bergere. 
I went twice — I couldn't get what they 
were talking about the first time, it's s:i 
long since I've spriken any French." 

T/ic Doivagcr and the 

Flaunting the glib, unbridled vocabu- 
lary of a sixteen-year-old school-girl, re- 

plete with "expressive," "gorgeous," and 
"charming" he was plying his trade.The 
very thought of the crudities of acknowl- 
edged trade were repulsive to his little, 
pink-embroidered soul, but extortionate 
trade it was just the same. Peddling pat- 
terns to ignorance, hawking baubles to 

The purveyor of 'interesting" wall 
papers, "thrilling" curtains, and "allur- 
ing" chairs was monarch of all he sur- 
veyed, in the studio whose dim, religious 
light banished all suggestion of commer- 
cialism. Here came the puffy wives of 
successfully tired business men, with 
Early American aspirations, period plans 
and decorative debauches in view. 

Dulcet tones fell from the thin, ascetic 
lips. "This will make perfectly gorgeous 
curtains, and this color just expresses your 
husband's virile personality. But some- 
where near we must have a touch of 
mauve, to suggest your light, feminine 
allure." And the dought)' dowager dim- 
ples in every crevice of all her chins. The 
halo around the carelessly disordered, 
slightly oily head of the autocrat of the 
refectory table was mirrored in her wat- 
ery, blue eyes. 

"I am afraid that the sets of books we 
selected for your country house just 
won't do in town." Progress and art were 
marching expensively forward. "We had 
them all bound in such light colors, you 
remember. Are they ever removed from 
the shelves?" 

A beatific and cherubic smile illu- 
mined the master's melancholy cast at 
the negative answer. 

"Oh, well, then we can have slip bind- 
ings made for them, to go over the old 
ones, if you don't want entirely new 
ones. Now then, about that smoking 
room." Here a slight grimace of disgust 
appeared. "Must your husband persist in 
his archaic ideas? Well, what does he 
require?" This with a patronizing smile 
for the absent butter and egg man. 

"But yon must be married to a mon- 
ster! Morris chairs! Red wall paper! 
Sectional book cases! A billiard table! 
AND cuspidors!" At this climax both 

(Cuntinucd to Page 29) 

The San Franciscan 


Portrait by C. Burton Huse 

Mrs Thomas Elwood Webster 
The former Miss Geneva White whose marriage this luoiith in Palo Alto was an event for Society 

The San Franciscan 

The Reigning Dynasty 

IF the following remarks seem to be 
made from a particularly crabbed 
point of view, it must be remembered 
that the monthof July is not conductive to 

writing. There are no authorities avail- 

able to base this deduction on — but ex- 
perience is still the best teacher. The 
society editors are slumped in the hard 
chairs of their dingy offices, watching 
the play of visions of cool Del Monte, 
inspiring ^'osemite. Lake Tahoc, Pebble 
Beach, El Mirasol, Santa Barbara and a 
half a hundred other delightful places 
following hard upon each other over 
the handles of their paper-cutters. It is 
not the plcasantest of situations especi- 
ally if the weather is a bit miu'ky as it is 
apt to be in dear old San Francisco in 
July, or even if it is a bit foggy as it is 
more apt to be. 

So bear with us as you read these notes, 
beneath your banana bushes or trees or 
whatever bananas grow on. Bear with 
us while )()U make that perfect approach 
shot. Do not be too hard on us even if 
you do not make that game in one hand, 
there are always more cards in the deck 
and always a new deal. We near your 

TO proceed 
When a knot is tied doubly it lias 
little chance of slipping; that is, if tiic 
material with which it is tied is sturdy. 
Whether this is true of marriages or not 
remains to be seen. 

Double weddings seem to be gaining 
in popularity. It is not the same double 
wedding, however of a generation ago. 
In the early part of last month, the 
Reigning Dynasty (amen!) received a 
gentle slap in the face when Sophia Bron- 
well (whom we have seen now and again 
enjoying herself at the Alladin Night 
Club) and Curtis Hutton glided off to 
Redwood City and took possession of a 
marriage license. The Brownell family 
bore up bravely and insisted with a hland 
face that it was Sophia's little way of 
formally announcing the engagement 
and that no ceremony had been per- 
formed. Opinions, never-thc-less, differ 
■ as to the latter part of the statement. 

At any rate a nice, safe, sane and con- 
ventional service was read "at the home 
of the bride's parents with only the im- 

mediate families and close friends of tiic 
couple attending." 


TPHEN towards the end of that dear 
•*- old month called June, Barbara Wil- 
lett and Charles Edwin Sudden made the 
most of the bridegroom's surname. On 
Tuesday, June 21 to be exact, the couple 
dashed to the famous (by now almost 
infamous) Redwood City, procured the 
inconvenient but necessary marriage li- 
cense and submitted to a ceremony read 
by the unromantic Justice Ray Griffin. 
This was kept under cover better than 
the former elopers' march had been. Ap- 
parently no one except the families sus- 
pected the former athlete from Stanford 
and his dashing bride, for the following 
day a hurried-up marriage was arranged 
with Reverend Frank Brush without tiu 
slightest grunt of an objection. The same 
words were solemnly pronounced over 
the heads of the erring ones that they had 
heard the day before, in the quiet little 
Swedenborgian Church. This would have 
made everything look alright if Griffin 
had kept still. But he could contain him- 
self no longer and the news was out. Oil 
Hum ... It gi\es the dailies something 
to write about. 

The bride is the daughter of Mr. and 
Mrs. Walter Willett and a sister of Mrs. 
Harrison Godwin (Audrey Willett) and 
Mrs. Lorin Tryon (Ola Willett). She 
is also a niece of Mrs. George Forderer 
of this city. Sudden is the son of Mrs. 
W. A. Heitman and the late Charles E. 
Sudden. He attended Stanford Univer- 
sity and was a member of the Zeta Psi 

•^1 — ^ 

VYTE heard a very interesting story the 
"^ other day about a lady who was 
smart. The complimentary reference to 
the intellect of Mrs. Frederick Sharon 
(who winters at the Plaza and summers 
at Menlo Park) was due to the fact that 
it is well known that at the time of pro- 
hibition Mrs. Sharon bought the entire 
stock of Bourbon whiskey which the 
Palace Hotel happened to have on iiand 
at the time of the disaster, 
■sj— ^ 

T) UT of the masses of tulle, orange 
-^ blossoms, veils, (heirloom and other- 
wise), somethings old, somethings new, 

somethings borrowed and somethings blue 
which go to make up the summer bride 
we find standing head and shoulders 
above the rest, one truly stately and ele- 
gant woman who goes to take the vows in 
an unruffled, dignified manner. Such a 
one was Miss Geneva White, who on 
the first day of July became the bride of 
Thomas Elwood Webster at four o'clock 
in the afternoon at the home of the bride 
in Palo Alto. The wedding took place 
in the Italian Garden of the home, the 
services being read under a large oak . 
tree where an altar had been erected. 

The march of the bridal party led 
from the house to the altar through an 
aisle formed of pastel shaded stock.. 
Thrown over the altar was a gold and 
siher brocaded satin cloth and on either 
side were tall urns of pastel flowers. 
White gardenias and candles were also 
on the altar. 

The bride a tall, stately blonde young 
American woman who is remembered 
for her excellent modelling in the Junior 
League fashion shows, wore a Vionnet 
model of white satin slightly draped in 
front and with a train falling from the 
hips. It was of course, of the conventional 
white satin. The sleeves were of rose 
point lace which had been on the gown 
of the bride's mother, the late Mrs. Bur- 
rell White. Some of the lace was also in- 
serted to form a V in the long train. The 
veil was of tulle and was held by a band 
across the forehead of rose point lace and 
a wreath of small orange blossoms crossed 
in the back of the head. She carried but- 
terfly orchids which fell in sprays to the 
bottom of the skirt. 

The wedding breakfast was served in 
the house the rooms being decorated in 
the pastel shades and lighted only by the 
tapers. The bride's table was covered 
with green and silver metal cloth and 
trimmed with gardenias and lilies of the 
\ alley. The other tables had green cloths 
and on them were pastel colored flowers 
combined with gardenias. 

The bride and groom are passing their 
lioneymoon in Honolulu and will return 
to California for a short visit when they 
will go east by way of the Canadian 
Pacific, stopping at Lake Louise and 
BanflF. Their home will be in Haveford, 
Pennsylvania, a suburb of Philadelphia. 

The San Franciscan 


{~\y course there have been such quan- 
^■^ titles of marriages these past few 
months it is very plausible that many 
would smack of an informal nature. But 
for something new, we cede all honors 
to that "thus far" most illusive young 
batchelor, George McNear, Jr. and his 
bride, nee Louise Hellman. The dailies, 
those worthy institutions, stimulated us 
over our shredded wheat one Monday 
morning with the naive announcement, 
(posed photographic verifications), that 
the marriage had taken place sometime 
between midnight and dawn at Mr. Mc- 
Near's apartment, which is one of those 
delightfully mannish sort of abodes that 
if you can make your way through the 
orange rinds and chesterfield vapor, you 
find a view of the bay. Directly after the 
wedding breakfast, the McNears started 
soutli to break the news to the bride's 
mother, Mrs. George Hellman. Stuart 
Hellman is her brother and Nancy Hell- 
man, a young movie star, is her sister. 

MRS. Helen Irwin Crocker has re- 
turned from New York to be pres- 
ent for the finishing of her villa at Pebble 
Beach. Houses of such distinction and 
charm, that in every way reflect the 
owner, may well come under the title of 
villa; a name that has a delightful hint 
of old world loveliness in its sound. And 
indeed Pebble Beach with its supreme 
beauty and smartness, could well become 
America's Riviere. Mrs. Crocker's place 
has several interesting points. All the 
bathrooms are built round, and the tubs 
have been brought from India and are 
made of a peculiar heavy glass, clear and 
of brilliant colors, so that if one's imag- 
ination is fertile, there are all sorts of 
possibilities such as a plunge of rubies or 
sapphires, or what have you! ! 
-S— ^-«- 

WE will permit ourselves to be very 
\ulgar at this point. We could be in- 
fiiu'tely more vulgar, but we are able to 
refrain and will simply pun. Many ol 
the Reigning Dynasty are getting up in 
the world. Now that that is oflt our system 
— to elucidate — we refer to the bunga- 
lows which are being built atop some of 
the city's highest buildings. We beg of 
you Mr. John Drum and Mr. William 
H. Crocker, to be extremely careful 
about the sort of persons you will enter- 
tain from time to time. We lowly ones 
who needs must tread the rugged pave- 
ment beneath have great fears of flying 

gin bottles and other misguided missiles, 
for that matter. At least we beg of you 
to cry "fore" at crucial moments. 
■)5 — ^ 

"pROBABLY one of the most straight- 
■'- backed but thoroughly exclusive affairs 
given recently was the dinner Mrs. John 
B. Casserly and Mrs. Nion Tucker gave 
followed by a musicale in the Woodland 
Theatre at Hillsborough. (The voice is 

I Find in a Bird's Song 

By Saimi Pukema Fassett 

1 find in a bird's song 

Life encompassed in four sounds; 

Two notes that soar, 
Two that drop. 
No more. 

Ecstacy star-pierced, 

Agony clod-anchored. 

Oh, all of life and death! 

A babe's wonder at its petal power, 

Youth and maid beneath a leafy bough 

Age on his mellowed journey back ; 

Meeting . . . loving . . . 

Mating . . . leaving . . . 

All these I find in a bird's song: 
Two notes that soar, 
Two that drop. 
No more. 

immediately lowered into hushed whis- 
pers) The Philharmonic Society of San 
Mateo was invited among t>thers. The 
part)' was an aftermath of the Sunday 
afternoon concerts given by the Phil- 
harmonic Society in San Mateo. 

Mrs. George N. Armsby as president 
of the society must be congratulated upon 
her work. The white clad handsome 

woman lends dignity and is a pleasantly' 
conspicuous figure wherever she appears. 
The attractive outfit of periwinkle blue 
and white hat of tan horsehair, is pecul- 
iarly becoming to Mrs. Casserly. Mrs. 
J. Downey Harvey frequently appears 
at the concerts in an entirely black outfit 
with which she wears a leghorn hat of 
the same sombre color. 

T N glancing over the social notes of 
-^ one of our leading papers we find 
that a certain visitor and his wife from 
Newport and New York were enter- 
tained here. The editor then goes on to 
carefully explain who the first wife of 
the -man was. Not content with that the 
little article ripples on to say that after 
he dix'orced his second wife she married 
a prominent movie actor. And lastly the 
third and present wife seems to be very 
young and beautiful. It is also tucked in 
that the gentleman is a Yale graduate 
and was in the diplomatic service. Too 
bad. He probably is always expecting 
diplomacy and probably always being 

VV/ELL, well, Helen you've shaken 
^^ our faith in womankind. After all 
this time we thought it was no other 
than the Prince of Wales and now look. 
A plain ordinary American — not even 
a little bit of a title like sister got. Oh 
yes, of course, he's a Harvard man and 
a member of the Knickerbocker, The 
Turf and Field, The Brook and Harvard 
University Clubs, not to mention the 
Racquet and Tennis combined with the 
City Midday, but never-the-less you can 
never be able to prefix those. 


/^SSIP de Perelma the Russian-Ameri- 
^-'^can portrait painter who is the house 
guest of James D. Phelan, at Montalvo, 
has completed the portraits of Mrs. Gert- 
rude Atherton, Mrs. Charles W. Fay 
and Colonel Harry Holand. At present 
the distinguished artist, whose work has 
attained international recognition and 
praise, is working on a p;)rtrait of Miss 
Rowena Mason. Following the comple- 
tion of this canvas, de Perelma will do 
Mrs. Richard Doyle and her children. 
The Reigning Dynasty looks forward 
with keen anticipation to de Perelma's 
exhibition which will be held in the early 

The San Franciscan 


ASSUMING an air of unlimited lei- 
sure and complete detachment, we 
have spent days wandering through 
certain shops in San Francisco, culling 
here and there a flower of information, 
and hegctting, perhaps illegitimately, a 
liberal education, the fruits of which we 
magnanimously offer to share with our 
many avid readers. 

Mo\eil hy pity for the poor benighted 

male, who receives such scanty attention 
these days, hosiery having given way to 
hip flasks, we were lured into the exclu- 
sive atelier of Monsieur Swift, attracted 
by something in the window which we 
had never seen before. It was a bathing 
suit, to be sure, one of the very p )pular 
two-piece sort. Our gaze was rixeted in 
fascination to the trunks thereof, equip- 
ped witii, of all things, a pocket! Oiu" 
nimble fancy cavorted at the sight, stim- 
ulated by the thought that at last the 
hardy beach-comber will have a place to 
park his handkerchief, cigarettes and 
lighter, so essential to comfortable nata- 

Another unusual feature in Swift's 
stock is a lounging robe, selling for a 
|)altry $200, of scarlet cut-vehet in 
an elaborate brocade pattern. There is 
another such garment still available, of 
so-called tinsel velvet, predominantly 
bright red, with gold threads woven 
through the material, retailing for a mere 
$150. Quite an original contribution to 
the well-dressed man's wardrobe is a blue 
necktie, decorated chastel)' with careless- 
ly applied white polka dots. This haber- 
dashing trifle is unique, we are informed, 
because the design has achieved its effec- 
tive irregularity by means of hand stamp- 
ing, infinitel)' superior to the more 
and accurate machine stamp. 

As Seen By Her 

'TpHE much vaunted Deau\ille Shop, 
■*- downstairs in the City of Paris, but 
not in the basement, (common word, 
tliat ) seems \ery much deserted these 
days. It is almost entirely populated by 
salesgirls, but at that it is almost impos- 
sible to obtain service. In a humble tone 
we inquired after a tuxedo model blue 
sweater, of the sort being worn todav on 
all the better dressed golf courses, and 
were referred to four different girls 
before the final xestal virgin finally 
consented languidly to open a show case. 
After a considerable amount of search- 
ing she announced that such a sweater 
was not to be had, and that was that. 

fust across from the sport sweater de- 
partment are men's athletic accessories. 
We were informed by the dapper young 
shiek in charge that the new belts promi- 
nently displayed on a table were the 
greatest invention in sartorial art of mod- 
ern times. They are made, for $3.50, of 
a fine wire mesh, and the advantage is 
tiiat they are so much cooler than any 
trouser supporter yet de\ised, a necessity 
in the tropics, a comfort here! 

A most intriguing application of his 
art has just been perfected by John Held 
Ji-., tlie originator of those engaging 
round-headed and slim-bodied sketches 
of the younger generation. He has de- 
signed a series of scarfs, p:iur le sport, 
stamped with his famous flappers and 
their bo)- friends, all bearing his signa- 

There is one for golf, for tennis, for 
riding and for the various other outdoor 
activities. On each one Held's youngsters 
disport themselves in appropriate fashion. 
These may be secured in San Francisco 
at Magnin's and the City of Paris, and 
are bound to be very much the thing be- 
for many weeks ha\'c elapsed. 

TQ^' the way, we stopped in our dizzy 
-*^ round the other day to partake of a 
dish of tea at the Palace Hotel. Where 
are the elite of yesteryear.? We were 
surrounded by what appeared to be a 
high school sorority, out for an orgy. All 
the maidens were giggling, awestruck 
and ecstatic, each dressed in a bouffant 
dress of rigid taffeta, each with the cor- 
sage pinned exactly at the extreme tip 

of the right clavicle, and each immedi- 
ately absorbed upon the arrival of food. 
We were in a somewhat reminiscent 
m;)od, mindful of the days of yore, when 
tea at the Palace meant San Francisco's 
400 enjoying a quiet hour. We were also 
mindful of the times when we lunched 
like epicureans at the Palace. Today we 
don't go there any more. We cannot 
afford the tariff and we do not like the 

■^ — ;■<■ 

/^ UMP'S and Marsh's, both considered 
^-^ leading dealers in Oriental art goods, 
afi'ord an enlightening contest. As we 
entered Gump's both our toes and our 
imaginations were struck by a large as- 
sortment of ship's lanterns plentifully 
reposing for some little distance along 
the floor. These may be had for amounts 
varying from $12.50 to $25. We bought 
just such a lantern not long since from 
a humble ship chandler doing business 
somewhere along the waterfront, paying 
something in the neighborhood of $3 
for it. Of course we carried it home 
ourselves, but supposing we did. 

A comparatively recent addition to the 
already variegated stock at Gump's is a 
so-called jewelry counter, in addition to 
the department which carries fine jade. 
We saw nothing there to attract even the 
most adornment mad fl.ipper. 

Marsh has devised some unusual spe- 
(Contimifd to V-Ajiv v?) 


The San Franciscan 


TheFor>?hil Garden of George A. Ncwhall, in Hillsborough Calif. 

A szceet seclusion this of sun and sJutle, 

A cjlm as\lum from the l/usy zcorhl. 
Where greed and restless dire do ne^er \iiz-.>de, 

Kor iiezcs of \-hange and mart each morning hurled 
Round half the glohe^ no noise of party feud 
Disturbs this peaceful spot nor mars its perfect quietude. 

— John Russell Hayes 

The San Franciscan 


What Price Crowns 

The European Infiltration of Blue Blood To Hollywood 

IT is beginning to look, in Hollywood, 
as though the producer, the director and 

his assistants will be forced to keep up- 
on their desks in addition to the Standard 
Casting Directory and other similar vol- 
umes designed to facilitate the casting 
of pictures, copies of Burke's Peerage, 
Almanac dc Gotha and the Blue Book. 

Already on the ground are these for- 
tunate brothers. Prince Serge Ma\ani of 
Georgia, whose glossy raven-black hair 
matches that of his wife, Pola Negri, as 
does the leonine mane' of Prince David 
Mdvani, the blonde loveliness of Mae 

Then, of course, as a permanent resi- 
dent, there is the Marquis Henri de la 
Falaise with his wife, Gloria Swanson. 
And now Count Leo Tolstoy has taken 
root in Hollywood after being brought 
from Russia to supervise the filming of 
his father's masterpiece, 'Resurrection." 

Working for Harry d'Arrast, the 
young French social favorite, who at 
present is directing for Lasky, is Count 
jean de Limur as is also Manuel de Ola- 
zabal whose family own miles of cattle- 
strewn pampas in the Argentine. Their 
possessions border upon the equally large 
holdings of the Gramajo family, whose 
son, Arturito, bob-sled champion of St. 
Mauritz, is now giving Douglas Fair- 
banks technical assistance with the film- 
ing of an epic of the Argentine, entitled 
"The Gaucho." 

Anthony Asquith, son of the famous 
Margot and the former English premier, 
and brother of Princess Bibesco of Rou- 
mania, worked with Douglas on his last 

Count Caracciolo, from Italy, as- 
sumed for film work the less pretentious 
an more pronounceable name of simple 
Mario Carillo, the name also borne by 
his cousin Leo Carillo, of "Lombard!, 
Ltd.," fame. 

One of Mario's first experiences, was, 
when answering a call for a man to play 
the part of a Count, he encountered a 
casting director who calmly informed 
him, ""^'ou won't do, young man, you're 
not the type. You don't look like a Count, 
and furthermore, you don't act like one ! " 

By Harry Crocker 

"What a pit}'," replied Mario, smiling, 
"because I happen to be one!" 

'Applesauce!" was the only comment 
of the casting director. 

■fl — fr 

QEEN Marie of Roumania was of- 
fered when in New York, twenty- 
fi\e thousand dollars for a single appear- 
ance in a film, an oflFer which, however, 
she refused. Nor could Lady Diana Man- 
ners of "The Miracle" be persuaded to 
stay on in Hollywood for pictures, after 
the departure of the spectacle. 

Generals Plashkoff and Ikanikoflt of 
the Imperial Rusian Army, have, since 
the revolution, learned to turn to good 
account their abilit)' to wear uniforms 
with a military swagger, and are con- 
sidered indispensible to any militaristic 

As a technical director. Count Pierre 
de Ramey finds that a picture dealing 
with a mythical kingdom is not to be 
dealt with strictly according to the laws 
which govern the court etiquette of an 
actual monarchy. 

The only reply vouchsafed to certain 
of his objections such as, "My dear di- 
rector, in the Court Guard, a sabre is 
never worn if the guardsman is already 
equipped with a halberd!" or "It is in- 
correct for a soldier to carry a shield 
when he in encased in a curiass!" was, 
"Aw, we can get away with it all right, 
y'see this is a mythical kingdom! There 
ain't no etiquette; we make it up as wc 
go along! " 

And so as the extras tramped upon 
the sets accoutred in all too full a panoply 
of armor, de Ramey could but sigh and 
shrug his shoulders. 

The Earl of Ilchester recently paid 
a visit to Hollywood, a visit inspired by 
his great interest in pictures. He did not 
participate in anv film work, but entered 
so entluisiasticalh' into the social lite of 
Hollywood, that he completely exhausted 
all the relavs of film folk delegated to 
keep him amused. 

In turn picture people found it amus- 
inti to see how enthusiastically Lord 
Claude Hamilton, Equcrn,- to His Royal 
Majesty, the King of England, also a 

visitor, entered into a scene in one of 
Madame Elinor Glyn's pictures which 
portrayed a Bolshevistic uprising in a 
mythical kingdom, and equally amusing 
to hear him later express his fears as to 
the political consequences of his possible 
detection in the film, subsequent to its 
release in England, in so revolutionary 
a scene. 

Count Lambert from France, is at 
present in Hollywood, seeking screen 
lionors; Count Andreas de Segurola, who 
is better known for his work in opera, 
has played with great success his first 
role in a film with Gloria Swanson, and 
seems won to the silver sheet, while the 
latest arrival in Hollywood, is no less a 
personage than the grandnephew of the 
late Emperor of Austria, the Archduke 
Leopold, who is signed with Eric von 
Stroheim, to play a picture dealing with 
the post war history of the Hapsburgs. 

"YYTlTH so much royalty apt to be 
*^ upon a set, it will be a ticklish 
question to determine the order of pre- 
cedence when the nobility line up to 
receive their pay. 

Then, too. Princess Maria de Bour- 
bon of the Spanish branch of that ancient 
and noble house essayed in pictures, jour- 
neying from New York to Hollywood 
as the protege of Marion Davies. 

As befitted her royal position, if 
perhaps a little above her station as a 
mere aspirant for screen honors — she 
was installed within the studio walls 
in a sumptuous dressing room. This it 
seems, was a blunder upon someone's 
part, as that particular dressing room — 
one of the I'frst upon the lot — had already 
been assigned to Nazimova, who how- 
e\er, liad not yet taken possession. 

Arri\ing upon the lot in tlie absence 
of the Princess to find her room cluttered 
up with the royal cosmetics and costumes, 
Nazimo\a had her maid deposit the ef- 
fects of the interloper, as she considered 
the person, to whom they might belong, 
upon the cement path outside the door. 

'I'he royal lady was horrified sorpe- 
wliat later to discover her possessions un- 

(Contiiiucd to I'agc 31) 

The San Franciscan 

The Bookstall 

FEW writers have equaled Karel 
Capek in writing the "wonder tale." 
Popular mystery is seldom of literary 
consequence, while the finer wonder 
tales, such as Arthur Machen's, deal with 
mysterious powders and super-natural 
powers. But of writers dealing with 
more plausihle materials and yet obtain- 
ing their effects in the fine manner, Mr. 
Capek has done the best work since H. 
G. Wells's Tales of Wonder, a volume 
little known in this country, and to which 
Capek's work has a strong resemblance. 
Capek came to the front with his great 
play R. U. R., and increased his follow- 
ing with his novel Kraktitit. Now comes 
his The Absolute At Large, a dramatic 
and rather diabolical burlesque. The 
story is based upon the invention of a 
Karburator which manufactures the Ab- 
solute, as the Absolute is expressed in 
the theory of Pantheism. When tliis di- 
vine energy is turned loose on the world 
astounding troubles begin. The tale is 
perhaps too loosely done to be highly im- 
portant as a novel, but will certainly rank 
ns a splendid burlesque, chiefly on poli- 
'ics and religion. The Clerics may raise 
some objection to the book, but lately 
their objections sell more books than their 
praise. Anyone who believes that what 
we want is a land of boundless plenty, 
(attention Ladies' Clubs), should by all 
means read this book. 

The Absolute At Large, by Karel Ca- 
nf"k; The Macmillan Co., price $2.50. 

TN his newest novel, Marching On, 
-^James Boyd gives us the first really 
good novel of the Civil War since The 
Red Badge of Courage. Boyd scored 
rather well with his tale of the Revolu- 
tion, Drums, and many critics wondered 
if it weren't an accident. But the new 
novel proves otherwise, for it is a highly 
intelligent story of that period, and it 
breathes a far truer atmosphere of the 
South than any of those other and more 
sentimental novels have done. Boyd's 
\icwpoint is that the Civil War freed 
the "white man" of the South, meaning 
the five and a half million of them not 
ovyning niggers. And that it restored the 
dignity of white labor, giving the white 
Southerner a chance to assert himself. In 

By William Ahlefeld Flanagan 

addition to making intelligent observa- 
tions, Mr. Boyd is a very capable writer, 
with a neat sense of restrained drama. 
It's a book worth owning, and one that 
would be a fine gift for an intelligent 
old veteran. 

Marching On, by James Boyd; Scrib- 
ner's, price $2.50. 

TN the midst of the hundreds of annual 
-*■ love stories, most of which soon die, 
there comes one by an English writer, 
H. T., that is probably destined to long 
life. As It ]Vas is a very short novel, 
revealing in a wistful but candid narra- 
tive, an artless and passionate love. The 
simplicity of its narrative-style is well 
suited to the fine simplicity of such an 
aflFection. David of the story, represents 
Edward Thomas, an English piet killed 
in the war. He was the husband and 
lover of H. T. the author. This novel 
was suppressed in Boston, for which the 
author should be congratulated. This is 
one sort of love story that will grow 
more popular in this country as we get 
less prudish ; and it is the sort which true 
lovers remember, and know to be the 

As It Was, by H.T. ; Harper & Broth- 
ers, price $2.50. 

CTILL another book worth reading is 
^ The Main Stream, by Stuart Sher- 
man ; a volume of articles chiefly about 
writers, that is done in good style and 
gives the reader a distinct idea about the 
personalities with whom Sherman deals. 
But the book will last as one of character 
portraits, not one of literary criticism. In 
every chapter Sherman approaches the 
man rather than the man's work. Now 
and then he drops revealing flashes about 
art, but more often than not, he does this 
by quoting his subjects' words. In the 
chapter on William Beebe for instance, 
he brings out that one must completely 
identify himself with what he studies or 
writes of, must temporarily become a 
bird, a tree, a God, a devil. But these 
were the words of Beebe, not of Sher- 
man. Probably Sherman believed this too, 
and it may have been this that led him 
to try and understand the man he criti- 

cised. Such an understanding helps great- 
ly but it is only one step in the under- 
standing of a writer's work. Sherman 
reaches a point where he thinks he has the 
writer's own character sized up, (always 
doubtful), and then seeks pieces of his 
work to fit in with what he thinks of the 
man. Even Anatole France is portrayed 
from the viewpoint of what kind of a 
man he was, rather than what kind of a 
writer. The chapter on Dreiser is good 
because the more personal side of his 
work includes all the values it has. Of 
Montaigne, Sherman says that his observ- 
ations were of less importance than the 
"sweet reasonableness" with which he 
uttered them. In m)' opinion, a critic who 
believes that Montaigne's mood is more 
important than liis observations, can 
scarcely be classed as a great critic. 

The Main Stream, by Stuart Sher- 
man; Scribner's, price $2.50. 

/^NE of the things which continue to 
^^puzzle readers and w.irry librarians 
and book-sellers, is the order in which 
the books of James Branch Cabell sh udd 
be read. As most readers know, these 
hooks did not come out in the order of 
st iry form, Jurgen being the first usually 
read, but belonging about sixth in the 
chronology. For the benefit of those 
puzzled I am giving here the prop?r order 
in which the books should be read, and 
including in the chronology several un- 
published books, the first to appear this 

First, Beyond Life; and. Figures of 
Earth; 3rd, The Silver Stallion; 4th, 
Dom-nei and The Music Behind the 
Moon; 5th, Chivalry ; 6th, Jurgen; 7th, 
The Line of Love; 8th, The High 
Place; 9th, Gallantry ; 1 0th, Something 
About Eve (this to be the new Autumn 
hook); Iltb, The Certain Hour ; 1 2th, 
The Chords of Vanity; 13th, From the 
Hidden JVa\ and The Jewel Merchants ; 
1 4th, The Rivet in Grandfather's Neck ; 
15th, The Eagle's Shadow; 1 6th, The 
Cream of the Jest; 17th, The Witch 
Woman (to be published in Autumn, 
1928); 1 8th, Townsend of Lichfield 
(to be published in Spring, 1929); igth, 
Straivs and Prayer Books. 

(Continued to Page 3;) 

The San Franciscan 

Page Mister Sargent 

We Find Representation of His Work in San Francisco 

By Aline Kistler 

SENATOR James D. Phelan's recent 
purchase of Sargent's crayon portrait 
of Mrs. Montague, a London beauty, 
has formulated a question concerning 
Californian appreciation of the work of 
one of America's acclaimed artists. 

It was natural to suppose 
that one could say just, "An- 
3thcr Sargent is here," and let 
it go at that. Certainly, with 
the wealth and art apprecia- 
tion centered in and about 
San Francisco, it would be 
presuming very little to ex- 
pect one crayon drawing, no 
matter how fine an example, 
to make a very small splasii 
in tile pool of Sargent's work 
that might have preceded it 
into the city. 

But when the question 
came, of how this drawing 
ranks with the Sargent's al- 
ready here, there was a stut- 
tering and stammering and 
blank expression. Yes — er — 
but what Sargent's are there 
in this part of California? 

One connoisseur and an- 
otncr were questioned. One, 
a director of a public gallery 
at that shook his head and said 
he did not think there were 
any. Another mentioned one 
— another two — and so it 
went. Books were consulted, 
biographies and sale lists — 
still information was meagre. 

Thus it appears that the 
addition of the sketch of Mrs. 
Montague to Senator Phelan's 
art collection is an event which calls 
atention to the late John Singer Sargent. 
Thus we turn from the art of the mo- 
ment to that of one whose recognition 
abroad has done so mucli for the status 
of American art. 

This sketch of the London beauty, 
one of Sargent's minor works, bears the 
characteristic dash and spirit of his can- 
vases. In it one finds that deft surety 
which, coupled with his instinctive re- 

finement and controlled sobrieti' of feel- 
ing, brought Sargent instant and lasting 
recognition on two continents. 

The sketch has the verve of something 
dashed off carelessly; but one finds in it 
an awareness of subtle racial difi^erences 

Sargent's fortiM of Mrs. Montague, 
vou- in the possession of James D. Phelaii 

that marks it as far from a haphazard 
experiment. It is as though Sargent had 
pulled aside a curtain to allow us an in- 
timate glimpse of the lady. But it is an 
intimacy of that degree and qualitv wliich 
passes for intimacy in polite society to- 
day. Here is no unveiling, no naked 
trutli. Sargent was too much tlu- tactful 
gentleman to betray the lady too far. His 
is the brilliant epitome rather than a 
profound study. 

Senator Phelan's interest in Sargent 
is not a recent development. Over ten 
years ago, he presented "The Mother," 
one of Sargent's fascinating water colors, 
to the Bohemian Club. And just last 
summer, when he was in London, he 
purchased an oil portrait of 
an Italian youth. 
'T~'HE Bohemian Club water 
-^ color is a lovely thing, il- 
lustrative of the way Sargent 
created a new and distinct 
style in this tricky medium. 
In it he conveyed a vivid im- 
pression of the scene before 
him by brilliant touches of 
color and strong contrasts of 
light and shade. His broad, 
vigorous style, despite itssum- 
mariness, gives a marvelous 
sense of actuality in "The 
Mother." The composition is 
interesting as a successful ex- 
periment with the focus of 
main interest. His figures of 
mother and child are far to 
one side, hardly in the picture 
at all, but the emphasis is 
maintained by well handled 
balance and rhythm. 

The portrait of an Italian 
youth in Senator Phelan's pri- 
^■ate collection was originally 
bought at the auction of Sar- 
gent's work after his death. 
It is one of the less known 
portraits but is a good ex- 
ample of the work showing 
the most direct Florentine in- 

The best known of Sar- 
gent's paintings in this region are "The 
Sketchers," owned by Mrs. Harriet 
Schimmerhorn, formerly Mrs. H. P. Car- 
olan; and "A Trout Stream in Tyrol," 
owned by Miss Helen Cowell. These are 
larger canvases and are counted among 
Sargent's more serious works. 

Among others of Sargent's works in 
and about San Francisco are the portrait 
of Mrs. Douglas Dick, owned by John 

(Continued to Page 33) 

The San Franciscan 


The Powers That Direct the Destiny of San Francisco 
/ Herbert Fleishhacker 

By GoBLiND Bkhari Lal 

THE genius of Order is incarnate 
in Herbert Fleishhacker. 
It seems that his face reveals his gift 
of putting things into an orderly pattern. 
I draw your attention especially to his 
head. And now obser\e his visceral reser- 
voir, from the throat to the thighs. Here 
is stored up a titanic dynamo, the batten,' 
of action that is released at the bidding 
of the thought started in that impressive, 
dome-like brain. So, I should generalize 
and say that the genius of Order and 
action combined is incarnated in Herbert 

For once, I am not fooling with phren- 
ology. The outward impression may be 
but an accidental circumstance. But it 
matches remarkably well with his spirit. 
Mr. Fleishhacker has his throne-room in 
San Francisco in a characteristic office- 
room in the Anglo & London Paris Na- 
tional Bank. This room, like its master, 
has an exalted ceiling shaped like a Bis- 
marckian liead. Built of deep brown and 
rich wood, it is yet singularly simple, and 
apparently constructed for undisturbed 
and concentrated and quick thinking, 
planning things out. It is the appropriate 
headquarters of a generalissimo, the arch 
strategist and commander of big busi- 
ness on the Pacific coast. 

It is hardly fair to employ any rubber- 
stamp descriptions — Napoleonic or Mus- 
solinic — about Fleishhacker. For he is 
entirely his own self, and a representa- 
tive San Franciscan. In word, it is not in 
Paris or Rome or London that a man of 
this disposition could be suitably placed. 
Bonaparte and the Duce are very names 
of some gory significance. Herbert Flei- 
shhacker, on the contrary, is saturated 
with the milk of humanity. He is not, 
however, a sentimentalist. What he is, 
is this: genuinely democratic. 

How varied are Herbert Fleishhacker's 
civic and commercial and industrial in- 
terests! Is there any major business ac- 
complished in San Francisco, and its 
environs, without Mr. Fleishhacker's ad- 
vice, assistance or downriglit direction? ? 
It seems, not. There is but little use in 
attempting to list even the major mer- 

cantile and banking and industrial enter- 
prises that he commands. His brain and 
sinew gives support to banks, factories, 
shipping and lumber firms, and charity 
organizations without end. He is, in 
sooth, one of the few men in San Fran- 
cisco who bring order out of chaos, unit}' 
out of diversity, in the seething and mul- 
titudinous life of California. 

Not even in early youth, Herbert Flei- 
shhacker mam'fested any lack of tile in- 
stinct of order. He had faith in himself, 
from tlie beginning. That means that he 
had an excellent perception, an eye, for 
the entire Order of community life, and 
his own place in that life. He had in- 
stinctively sized up the situation around 
him in any field that he entered. And, 
at once he had a hunch about his own 
especial job in that situation. This extra- 
ordinaiy gift of perception kept up his 
trust in himself. He needed it, too, in the 
earlier stages of his development. 

TT is just fifty-five years since Herbert 
-*- Fleishhacker was born in San Fran- 
cisco, the younger son of Aaron and 
Delia Sterm Fleishhacker. He was edu- 
cated at a grammar school, but it was 
on leaving the class-rooms that his real 
training for life commenced — in his 
father's paper box factory. 

Herbert Fleishhacker was between 14 
and 15 years, when he got a job in the 
paper factory, and he toiled like any 
other workman. He asked for no sj^ecial 
consideration. He was given none. He 
maiie full use of his well set physique. 
It built him compactly. It was soon after 
this initiation into honest labor that his 
father died. Now he had to assume the 
responsibilities of the family, together 
with his elder brother Mortimer. The 
two brothers became the masters of the 
paper mill, and they made a division of 
labor at the start. Mortimer Fleishhacker 
took charge of the industrial manage- 
ment. And, Herbert took the open road, 
and he started to bring in orders. He was 
a Napoleonic young drummer. His ten- 

acity was superb. In end, he brought his 
game down. Was the prospective cus- 
tomer altogether too uppish? No matter. 
Closed doors could be opened, Herbert 
Fleishhacker would open them, sooner 
or later. Some times it took three or four 
years to land an order. But, he landed 
it nevertheless. A calm resoluteness was 
soon supplemented by admirable tact and 
courtesy and courageous humor. The 
combination is irresistable, when it serves 
as a gunpowder to the shots of uncom- 
mon inherent ability. Herbert Fleish- 
hacker is reticent about most of the epi- 
sodes of those early days, that bring out 
how potent a salesman he was, being both 
a diplomat and unremitting hammerer. 
Under the able internal and external 
strategy of Mortimer and Herbert Flei- 
shhacker the paper and paper-box factory 
thrived rapidly. 

Herbert Fleishhacker made a trip to 
Oregon. Here, he saw something new 
happening. A railroad was planning to 
sell some of its land, coxered with ex- 
cellent lumber. Herbert Fleishhacker in- 
stantly swooped down upon the deal, and 
like an eaglet seized it on the most advan- 
tageous terms. The transaction brought 
to him, and his brother, always the team 
companion, a net profit of $300,000. 
This stroke increased not only his re- 
sources, but also his skill and energy and 
his financial perception. From now on, 
he rose, meteor-like. He organized a 
paper mill in Oregon, and another in 
California. And, then he saw an oppor- 
tunity to develop hydro-electric power. 
It was a tributary of the Truckee River, 
Nevada, that appeared to Herbert and 
Mortimer Fleishhacker as a potential 
agency for the dex'elopment of electrical 
energy. They put this through, with 
promptness and skill. A little later, an 
electrical company was started in San 
Francisco. It was the germ of the Great 
Western Power Company, and the Flei- 
shhacker brothers headed the enterprise. 
Herbert Fleishhacker is still the vice- 
president of the company. 

(Continued to Page 30) 

The San Franciscan 

Herbert Fleishhacker 

Portrait by Bvye 

The San Franciscan 

flattered him and grouped about him. 

They were his puppets who danced about 

and amused him. He became pale. They 

cautioned him about his excesses. He was 

bored. They suggested a new pleasure. 

He was extravagant. They hinted at 

greater extravagances. Hisburden weigh- 
to o o 

ed heavily upon him. His costly paintings 
were as nothing to him who had loved 
beauty. His rare books remained neg- 
lected while he poured over a fat his- 
tory of crime. At a symphony, the deep 
dissonances mocked him. Music was a 
torture to him. All beauty was a torture 
to him. His whole being seemed to be but 
two wide eyes that saw a withered, tot- 
tering figure walking everlastingly be- 
fore him. He grew impatient with him- 
self. He abused himself. He hated him- 
self because he could not forget the re- 
pulsive old man. And he became paler. 

/^NE afternoon as he alighted from 
^^his carriage he noticed a young man 
standing near his house, watching him 
studiously. There was something in the 
young man's attitude that arrested his 
attention. He was a poorly clad figure 
but his grace lent a dignity even to his 
rags. He thought of his own youth and 
beauty. The bystander was curiously 
like himself as he had been before the 
fatal journey. He sent for the young 
man who came toward him with glad 

He spoke to the young man about the 
weather and inquired about his health, 
watching him with envious eyes. And 
the young man answered absent-mind- 
edly, admiring iiis costume, his carriage, 
his wealth. 


"Very," the young man laughed. 

This chance meeting developed into 
a constant companionship. He learned 
that this youth was filled with the dizzy 
dreams that had been his in the misty 
years behind him. He questioned the 
young man about his dreams. He an- 
swered that he was an artist but that he 
had no money to buy oils, he had scarcely 
enough money to buy bread. He did not 
help him. The artist told him of a girl 
who loved him but he had no money to 
realize their love. 

The Abyss 

(Continued from Page 12) 

He found a certain satisfaction in 
watching the young man struggle. This 
was the man he was looking for. This 
man was the man who would understand. 
This was the man who would do as he 
had done. He was burning to question 
him and led up to the question in all sorts 
of devious ways. 

"Which do you think the greater evil," 
he asked him one day, "poverty or mur- 

The artist was not astonished. "Pov- 
erty is a predicament, while murder is 
a crime. They are both vulgar but pov- 
erty we may blame on the gods and mur- 
der we must blame on ourselves." 

"One usually leads to the other," the 
older man suggested slyly. 

"Only among beastly people," the 
artist answered calmly. 

He felt sure the youth was insincere. 
He was certain he was lying. The young 
man envied him. He loved the things 
that only wealth could buy. Did not his 
eyes wander liungrily, lingeringly over 
the luxuries in his rooms? There was no 
doubt about it. He would do it. He form- 
ulated a daring plan. The artist wanted 
something. He would give him the op- 
portunity' to get it. He laughted with glee 
at the thought of his plan. He was sure 
of his estimate of the man. The man 
hated him. He was glad he hated him. 
He had set out deliberately to make him- 
self hateful to the young man. He was 
convinced the young man would do it. 

So one dark night the two of them set 
out on the same torturous path of black- 
ness that he had traversed a good many 
years before. He played the old man's 
role this time and the young man fol- 
lowed him. The abyss below them was 
great and bewildering. They went on 
and on, the young man whistling behind 
him, startling the silence with his music. 

"He is beautiful," the old man said, 
hating him. "He is young, he is gay. He 
will do it. This will be my compensa- 
tion." He thrilled at the idea of com- 

The path became more precipitous 
with each step and there was no moon or 
stars to light the way. The silence was 
black and heavy. The silence was smoth- 
ering. The poet refrained from whistl- 
ing. The rocks gaped at them like suspic- 
ious monsters. Desolation was there. 

"Let him think, let him think. He 
hates me," the old man whispered to him- 
self as he walked carefully. The artist 
followed him silently. 

The minutes passed slowly as though 
loathe to depart and the old man's ex- 
citement was intensified. "Will you car- 
ry this," he said. "It seems it is more 
dangerous here. Yes, it seems so." He 
gave his satchel to the young man who 
took it and said not a word. "In it is all 
my wealth, all. Be careful of it for all 
of my wealth is in it." He hesitated, then 
added, "All in cash." 

The old man waited for the crucial 
moment. It was not time yet, he con- 
sidered. The time had not yet come. He 
was prepared to die. He wished to die. 
He longed for the abyss. Why did he not 
do it? The suspense was intolerable. 

"I should not have brought my wealth 
on such a dangerous path," he com- 
plained, slyly. And the young man said 

A faint pink outlined the blackness of 
the rugged mountains beyond. The old 
man did not perceive it immediately. 
Then suddenly he whispered to himself 
frantically, "What is that? What is it? 
The path is easier. There is light. "He 
addressed the artist, "What is the light? " 

"The dawn," came the serene answer. 

He suffered a con\ulsion of despair. 
A horrible despair came with the realiza- 
tion that the artist had not done it, that 
it had never occurred to him to do it. He 
sensed the glad step of the youth behind 
him. His mistake was ghastly. 

"The dawn," he cried shrilly, incred- 
ibly. "I can't believe it. Tiie dawn? No. 
I deny it." 

With an easy movement he fell from 
the path into the depths below. His mis- 
ery was drowned in the blackness and his 
cries were lost in the silence. 

•^— * 
'"pHE old man had not taken the rigid 
■*- precautions of his predecessor. The 
young artist's startled innocence was 
taken for a badly concealed guilt and the 
Just Men condemned liim to hang by 
the neck. Some little time after, this was 
done and his body hung limp from the 
gallows and his face was purple and 
ugly; his tongue fell out from his mouth 
and there was no remaining trace of his 

The San Franciscan 

The Shouting Gallery 

(Continued from Page 17) 

the speaker and his cowering listener 
were in tears. 

"I can't help it," the woman sobbed 
nervously. "He says he'll divorce me if 
he can't have one room in the house that 
a he-man can come into and put his feet 
on the table if he wants to. Nothing ap- 
peals to him! I tried to tell him last 
night what a blow it had been to both 
of us when those needlepoint chairs ar- 
rived damaged. 'If they're broken, why 
don't you send them back to Needlepoint,' 
he shouted, and stalked out of the room." 

"This is too much," screamed the man 
hysterically. "Please take your order else- 
where." He staggered to his feet, turning 
his back on his distraught patron. 

An hour later he rang for his secre- 
tary. "Write a letter to that awful wo- 
man," he commanded, "saying that if 
she thinks there is still a chance to bring 
real art into her husband's humdrum life, 
I'll reconsider the order." 

Absentmindedly he fell to computing 
prices on the edge of a hitherto virginal 

•H— *■ 

Cash Is King! 

"Cut out the crying , kid, what I want 
is cash ! " The impresario's voice floated 
through the transom between his inner 
office and the reception room. 

Artistic temperament? Applesauce! 
Emotional fervor? Press agent stuff! 
Inspired ardor? Nothing but nonsense! 

The two, apparently, sat across a table 
thrusting papers at one another. Their 
voices drifted into the outer room, angry, 
strident, bickering. As soon as word was 
brought of the presence of a stranger, 
the dialogue took on a diiferent tone, as 
if the speakers were subtly conscious of 
a listener. The Public, represented in 
even a single person. 

After a few minutes' further wrang- 
ling, the gentleman madam in the house 
of the muses swaggered forth to sec and 
face the world. But none of wiles of the 
seducer were evident. With legs swag- 
geringly spread apart, arms impudently 
akimbo, tlic impresario was ready for 

"You bet, that tenor's the boy for me. 
He's the only one of all the lot of dagoes 
that I'll bring out every year. He pulled 
this season out of the fire for me. I don't 

bring 'em year after year. I should say 
not! First thing you know, the damn 
public says, 'You see, he gives us the old 
stuff.' And then the beans are spilled. No 
sirree! I hold out on 'em, and then they 
go crazy." 

The greatest press agent of modern 
times pokes his head out of the inner 
sanctum. He is tousled, emotional, oily, 
but he is a genius. 

"Do you finish our talk, or do you 
not?" he demands. 

"SiH'e, I'm coming, but keep your 
shirt on, and don't shoot a lot of art talk 
at me. I told you before, money talks to 
me, and nothing else, so keep your cry- 
in«: spells for the dear public — they like 

"So you think the place is a barn for 
concerts. All right, but I've got to get 
the crowd in have'nt I? What do you 
and the rest of the damn crowd know 
about the business. It's just like any other 
business, isn't it? You bet it is! I've got 
art to sell, and if I don't sell it big, who's 
the loser? Your Uncle Dudley, you can 
bet your bottom dollar." 

Once fairly launched, the monologue 
gives promise of continuing indefinately. 
He's a solo artist of no mean ability and 
endurance himself, the impresario. 

"There's only one advantage to the 
whole game," he comments, " and as far 
as I'm concerned, it's a total loss, too. I 
could go to all these ritzy concerts free, 
but damn it, I don't care a whoop for the 
whole outfit! The wife goes regular. 
The only time I get any fun out of it is 
when I can drag one singer to some other 
guy's show. It's a picnic to watch 'em 

Once again the inner door opens to 
emit the further tousled and indignant 
head of the temperamental press agent. 

"I can't wait any longer, that's final," 
he thunders. "Either you come back now, 
or I tear up the check to prevent another 
crying spell! " 

The artificial shrug of indifference 
doesn't quite serve to camouflage the 
little, acquisitive light in the eyes of the 
impresario. "Alright, alright," he mut- 
ters, "but this is the first time it ever took 
me more than fifteen minutes to get a 
fellow to sign on the dotted line." Sigh- 
ingly he turned to the departing guest. 
"At that, I don't know how some of us 
could get along without music!" 

Now Through to 


t« convenient Pullman service ^ 
every evening via Overland L 
Route, Lake Tahoe Line J 

A swift, comfortable trip, as- 
suring the maximum amount of 
time at the lake. Every vacation 
sport is there— Golf, tennis, 
horse-back riding, hikes, swim- 
ming, fishing, dancing. Steamer 
trips around the lake,only$2.40. 

You leave San Francisco (Ferry) 
at 7 p. m., Sacramento at 10:55 
p.m., arriving at the shore of the 
lake in time for breakfast next 
morning. Returning, leave Ta- 
hoe Station 9:30 p. m., arriving 
San Francisco 7:50 a.m. 

Day service, offering an interesting 
scenic trip up the Sierra, leaves San 
Francisco at 7:40 a. m., Sacramento 
10:45 a. m., arriving at the lake for 

Reduced roundtrip fares ate effec- 
tive throughout the summer. Fot ex- 
ample, only $13.25 roundtrip 
from San Francisco, good for 16 days. 
Ask for illustrated booklet about 
Tahoe Lake region ; also booklet 
"Low Fares for Summer Trips" 



Tass. Traffic Mgr 

San Francisco 

The San Franciscan 


(Continued from Page 26) 

FACTORIES and fields and yards are 
rjoverned by capital. The topnotch 
tliinii to do was to become a strategist of 
capital. This ambition was in Herbert 
Fleishhacker's blood from the earliest 
youth. And, when he was still a very 
^•ounn; man he came within reach of the 
banking business on a metropolitan scale. 
His father-in-law, Sigmund Greene- 
baum,, was the President of the London 
I'aris & American Bank, and he invited 
Herbert Fleishhacker to participate in his 
work. That was in 1907. 

With his habitual concentration, Her- 
bert Fleishhacker mastered the operations 
of tlie \arious departments in a relati\'ely 
sliort time. He became one of the direct- 
ors of the bank, and virtually its manager. 
He made the bank a national institution. 
He consolidated it with the Anglo Cali- 
fornia Bank, anil the combination was 
named the Anglo & London Paris Na- 
tional Bank, with resources, at that time, 
of some twenty-six million dollars. A 
year afterwards, in 19 10, Herbert Flei- 
shhacker became the president of this 
giant banking corporation. 

The master of innumerable and power- 
ful banks, factories, lumber and sugar 
cane fields, in a region that extends from 
Utali to the Philippines, Herbert Fleish- 
hacker can yet keep his mind clear and 
free because he picks out most able cap- 
tains to carry out his general command. 
He trusts his assistants, and they seldom 
belie his faith in them. 

Power has not spoiled him. It has not 
turned into acid, his natural and vigorous 
humaneness. Somehow, he remains a bit 
boyish, and companionable. He plays 
golf with expertness. In earlier days, he 
played excellent tennis and was a good 
horseman, too. He has traveled in Europ:-, 
but his nature is at its best expression in 
San Francisco, and it is in this city or its 
charming suburbs that he seeks his re- 
creation. He likes Del Monte, as a para- 
disial spot for the play of his lighter 




One of the Oldest Banks in California, 
the Assets of which have never been increased 
by mergers or consolidations with other Banks 


526 California Street, San Francisco, Cal. 

JUNE 30th, 1927 

Assets $113,925,831.54 

Capital, Reserve and Contingent Funds 4,700,000.00 

Employees' Pension Fund over $575,000.00, 

standing on Books at 1.00 

MISSION BRANCH Mission and 21st Streets 

PARK-PRESIDIO BRANCH Clement St. and 7th Ave. 

HAIGHT STREET BRANCH Haight and Belvedere Streets 

WEST PORTAL BRANCH West Portal Ave. and Ulloa St. 

Interest paid on Deposits at the rate of 

FOUR AND ONE-QUARTER (4^) per cent per annum, 





and GAY HAVANA, en route 

Pd/iiiiriti Mail Liners Arc Spfcially Built for Service in the Tropics 

TWENTY-EIGHT days of pure del'ght aboard a palatial Panami Mail Liner with 
seven never-to-be-forgotten visits ashore at picturesque and historic ports — Manzm- 
illo, Mexico; S:m Jose de Guatemalai La Libertad, Salvador; Corinto, Nicaragua. 
Two days in the Canal Zone. See the great P.inama Canal; visit Balboa, Cristobal and 
historic old Panama. 

Every cabin on a P-^nama Mail Liner is an outside one; each has an electric fan, 
and there is a comfortable lower bed for every passenger. There is an orche tra for 
dancing; deck games and sports and salt water swimming tank. The Panama Mail is 
world-famous for Its fond and service. 

Costs Less Than ^9 a Day 

The cost is less than $g.oo a day for minimum first class passage, including bed 
and meals on steamer. Go East by Panama Mail and return by rail (or the reverse routing 
for $180) for as little as $V')0- (This price does not Include berth and meals on trains.) 
Panama Mail liners leave San Francisco, Los Angeles and New York approxiniUely every 
21 days. Next sailings from San Franclscr.: SS VENEZUELA July 30; SS ECUADOR 
August 20. From New York: SS COLOMHIA August 13; SS VENEZUELA Sept. 5. 
For illustrated booklets and further details ask any steatnship or 
ticket agent, or write to 


548 S. Si'RiNG Street 

2 Pine Street 

10 Hanover Sqi'ARE 

The San Franciscan 

Edgar Saltus 

(Continued from Page 14) 

narrative of the well known initiates that 
gossip inflated with the most preposterous 

With the delicate hand of his artistry, 
Saltus turns the forbidding gargoyles of 
esotoric philosophies into exquisite minia- 
tures of unbelievable beauty. The learned 
resent such magic that shames their pon- 
derous hands. For doom is written by 
this bright pen that flashes through the 
cowls of their conceit. There are re- 
vealed the shams and contradictions of 
history, so jealously worshipped as know- 
ledge by those who are called wise be- 
cause they have retentive memories or a 
flair for forgotten languages. 

The ignorant peer with myopic eyes, 
and whimper of shattered idols. Not so, 
save for those who have gaped too long 
at the polysyllabic disguises of their dei- 
ties. This curious pagan tears away the 
trappings of verbiage, and whatever is 
beautiful is gi^■en, not taken away. Per- 
haps it would be better if the majority 
of people could continue to believe in 
St. Nicholas. That is no concern of the 
artist. The futility of sterile creeds urged 
him to exploration. Voila — the strings 
that manipulate the marionettes lie ex- 
posed. Saltus pierces the veils of false 
illusion and speaks lightly of what he 
finds, to hide heart-break. The moron 
sees only a smart-aleck mouthing epi- 
grams. The savant sees a zealous paladin 
of beauty and cringes. Saltus passes on, 

'TpHE artist's personal life cannot be de- 
-*- scribed in a short paper. His absent- 
minded contacts with the world interest 
only socialogists and enemies. He mar- 
ried, on occasions. Saltus was a genius of 
many personal idios)'ncrasies. They are 
all taken care of by gossips. Van Vechten 
says that Saltus is the only author he ever 
saw that looked like one. A finely shaped 
head lit by great slumberous dark eyes. 
Well knit body and something of a 
dandy. Saltus was of distinguished line- 
age, enjoyed a cosmopolitan education, 
and inherited enough miuiey to live com- 

A catalogue of his complete works is 
lengthy. Novels, essays, liistories, bio- 
graphies, books of philosophy and poetry. 
All illuminated by his peculiar genius; 
all strange tapestries woven in the loom 
of his fantastic, erotic muse. The work- 
aday world queerly inhabited with angels, 

izeds, dryads, peris, Roman emperors, 
Russian tsars, and the gods of mythology. 
Through them all a whispered presage 
of his tragedy. Few men are impervious 
to the lure of eudaemonism. Gods have 
fallen, and men grew wiser. Man sur- 
vived. The artist knew that well. Age 
came on. Weariness of love and pilgrim- 
age in the high, inaccessible frontiers of 
dream broke the strong spirit. An intel- 
lect that had played with the godhead 
meekly accepted the proflrered melodious 
tautology of Theosophy. Poe died from 
drugs . . . Lanier from the white plague 
. . . Saltus died of a broken heart. It was 
tlie price he paid for revealing the secrets 

of the gods. 

■* — •'^ 

What Price Crowns 

(Continued from Page 2O 

ceremoniously heaped upon the ground. 
Attempts to reinstate herself failed; Naz- 
imova was obdurate. A Princess might 
be a Princess in her native land, but in 
a studio, she should learn a star was a 

Princess Maria ran to Miss Davies 
in a flood of tears, and incoherently 
sobbed out the fact that someone — she 
did not know the woman's name — had 
stolen her dressing room, dumped her 
precious belongings in the mud, and in- 
sulted her when she tried to remonstrate. 

A formidable phalanx of studio ofl^i- 
cials was summoned which advanced to 
the scene of battle to reconnoitre and 
arbitrate. The situation was ticklish; on 
the one side the royal protege of a star, 
on the other, a temperamental star draw- 
ing a huge salary. 

The monetary consideration swayed 
the decision! 

With all due apologies, the Princess 
was informed by the urbane oflncials, 
that she would be immediately installed 
in another and even more beautiful dress- 
ing room. 

"But I don't want another one," sob- 
bed the fair daughter of Spain, "I want 
that one ! " 

Howe\er, Nazimova was pugnacious- 
ly framed in the doorway. The sight of 
her roused the ire of the Princess. 

Hysterically she assailed her opponent 
verbally — the ofl!icials intervened to pre- 
vent a physical encounter, as Nazimova 
looked rather fit. 

"Just you w-wait," sobbed the Prin- 
cess, "Just y-you wait and s-see. I'm go- 
ing to t-tell the King of Spain on you, 
you see if I don't!" 

Particular Service to 
Out-of-Town Clients 

Conservative Margin 
Accounts Solicited 

Special Market Letters Sent 
Regularly on Request 


& C ompany 

MEMBtRS New York Stock Exchange 


6n Marktt Stieet .... Phone Sutter 7676 

Branch: Financial Center Building 

1404 Franklin Street . . Phone Glencouri 8r6i 

New York Office: 120 Broadway 





Sent on Request 
No Obligation 


Investment 5^J> f^g\ 
Securities k) \JU 

Jan francisc» 

The San Franciscan 

Boosters Apologia 

(CcntinueJ friim Page 9) 

talk to their editors and publishers and 
to rub elbows with their fellows. What 
writers missed was leisure and space in 
which thought and feeling could in- 
cubate, and while their need in this res- 
pect was professional, the same need is 
personal for any individual of whatever 
occupation who is not a mere surface- 
skimmer or excitement-eater. 

What it comes to is that the city organ- 
izes and distributes, fabricates and re- 
fines, but it does not produce. It does not 
produce the essential raw materials. What 
it does do is to take the raw materials 
and make something of them. It is re- 
sponsible for almost everything that en- 
riches the life of the mind and the spirit 
and makes existence tolerable for in- 
telligent people. The city is particularly 
stimulating and enriching for the young. 

It will always draw them. 

•)5— ^-^ 

ADMITTING so much for cities in 
general, another question arises: how 
big should one's city be? Here I reach 
my point at last: It must, if we are to get 
anything of its full value, be the biggest 
city anywhere around. It must be the 
metropolis. If it can be the metropolis 
and remain small, so much the better. 
But of course it cannot. We are entering 
an age of super-organization, whether 
we like it or not. Our cities are huge 
now and they will become huger. And 
while we are about it we had much better 
live in the biggest, which is to say, in the 

Here is a heresy that, stated baldly, 
will invite the scorn of all who hate 
boosting, who hate uncritical worship 
of bigness and numbers for their own 
sake. In defending it, the writer might 
as well admit that he is not unbiased. He 
recently found himself, much to his sur- 
prise, on the staff of the City's advertis- 
ing and promotion bureau. Tlie associa- 
tion was pleasant and the salary very 
convenient indeed. And in his instinctixe, 
conscious and unconscious process of mak- 
ing himself as happy as possible in the job, 
he evolved the thesis here set forth. 

It is, briefly, that everything amusing 
and enriching in city life tends to desert 
the smaller for the larger town. My 
thinking has been influenced by several 
visits to Boston and Philadelphia. Large 
enough to exhibit most of the discomforts 
and drawbacks of the larger city, they 
are decadent towns, increasingly sterile 

as to all the arts and lacking any stimu- 
lating mental milieu. Boston is a sad 
museum of \anished glories. It has not 
been able to resist the tremendous centri- 
petal pull of the metropolis on the Hud- 
son. Nor will San Francisco long resist if 
another citv on the Pacific Coast should 
surpass it in size and economic importance. 
The metropolis, we can take it f orgranted 
in this day of centralization, will suck 
in all the brightest young people, all the 
best publishers and art dealers, all the 
magazines, all the keenest minds in every 
field. It will incubate the leaders of the 
next generation, as all the promising 
youngsters of the West turn toward it 
in their search for companionship, for 
stimulation, for wider contacts, for en- 
couragement, for a market. If San Fran- 
cisco has something unique to give, it 
must continue to be the metropolis, and 
we must have faith that the city's unique- 
ness is sturdy enough and winning enough 
to survive numerical growth. 

The Bookstall 

(Continued from Page 24) 

On Easy Terms 

Back of Beyond. A novel by Stewart 
Edward W^hite, that in theme is notice- 
ably like certain novels of Rider Hag- 
gard. A story of hardships and thrills in 
South Africa that, in spite of frequent 
mediocre writing and a trivial plot, re- 
veals the spirit of Africa and relates a 
fascinating adventure. 

Back 0} Beyond, by Stewart Edward 
White; Doubleday, Page & Co., price 

The Question books still go strong. 
Series Two of Ask Me Atiother,\s equal- 
ly popular (and equally unpopular) with 
the Wednesday Sewing Circles, and the 
Ore2;on Aggies' football squad. Ask Me 
Too, the junior question book, is now 
more than a success, since the kids have 
discovered that it causes more havoc 
among the parents and teachers than 
among themselves. 

Ask Me Another, Series Two, by 
Spafford and Esty; price $l.6o. 

Vanneck. A novel containing some 
good but tame entertainment. The author 
is too chatty to be forceful or to give the 
necessary punch to his wit. He does ha\e 
a sense of humor, and his novel will 
likely be made into a good movie. 

Vanneck, by Robert Grant; E. P. 
Button, price $2.50. 


Photographic Portraits 









Large and Varied Stock oj 






first editions, art books, architecture, fine 
bindings, limited editions. Entire libra- 
ries or single volumes. Send for catalog. 
Satyr Book Shop, 1647 Hudson Ave., 
Hollywood, Cal. 


usually looking for some fine book or 

unusual research item. He is a steady 

customer of ours. 

Lord's Bookshop 

755 So. Olive St. Los Angeles 




San F r a >i ci s c o'' s 
S 7)1 a r t c s t C a f e 

A cafe of Continental Eu- 
rope in San Francisco . . . 
where savory food, defer- 
ential service and charming 
decoration make of lunch- 
eon, dinner and supper a 








As Seen By Her 

(Continued from Page 21 ) 

cialties that should be of great interest 
to the seeker after gifts. Good size Jap- 
anese lacquer trays, bound in wicker, 
available either in red or green, with a 
little gold crest for decoration, may be 
had for $3.50 and $4.50. They would 
be perfect for serving anything from the 
late lamented cocktail to Junior's ma- 
tutinal mush. 

'T''HE theory that "he who would search 
■^ for pearls must dive below" is im- 
mediately exploded by the most casual 
glance at the jewelry counter at Liebes'. 
Here are strings upon strings of vari- 
colored beads, labelled pearls, and spoken 
of as such by customer and salesgirl alike. 
We glanced tlie profusion o\er, and ob- 
served the multiple shadings of pink, 
white, delicate blues and greens. Verily, 
we reflected, these are pearls of doubt- 
ful parentage — nary an oyster to sponsor 
such as these, but nonetheless, they are to 
had for a mere pittance, anywhere from 
•^3-95 '" ^5-95i ^^ 'he jewelry counter! 
A new feature, also sponsored by the 
versatile management of Liebes', is a 
special counter dedicated to the purvey- 
ing of Louis Sherry's famous candies, 
put up in the well known lavendar boxes, 
and received fresh each week. These de- 
lectable sweets are procurable at $2 the 
p;>und, and their epicurean qualities are 
improved upon by the presiding, per- 
oxided attendant, who glibly assures all 
purchasers that they are expensive because 
tiiey are imported from Paris! To her 
mind, possibly, New York is too domestic 
to account for the $2, so for purposes of 
sales talk, she assumes that the Paris 
branch of Sherry's sends candy to San 
Francisco, although the New York es- 
tablishment supplies the rest of America. 

Page Mister Sargent 

(Cnntinued ti-nni I'.igc 2O 

Parrott; a portrait drawing of Dennis 
0'Sulli\an, owned by Mrs. Oscar Sutro; 
a portrait owned by William Randolph 
Hearst; drawings owned by Mrs. Tobin 
Clark; and a painting, owned by Mrs. 
W. B. Bourne. 

In all, some seven or eight examples 
besides Mr. Phelan's purchases — repre- 
sentation indeed of the work of the artist 
who has epitomized American energ)' 
and psychological penetration in work 
accepted on both sides of the Atlantic. 

The San Franciscan 








177 Post Street 


Telephone Douglas 4751 


224 Grant Avenue 

KEARNY 4975 

The San Franciscan 


To ^advertisers 

In reading this notice, you 
are one of many — of the 
fortunate many. The San 
Francisca7i is edited espe- 
cially for the consumption 
of the socially elect — the 
Reigning Dynasty. 

T/icrcforc . . . these adver- 
tisements conform to an 
aristocratic point of view 
. . . and in so doing, appeal 
to good taste as well as to 
good sound financial hack- 

If your product is superior, 
as is your desire in literature 
— Run Your Copy in 

San Franciscan 

The Coast Line 


The subject of "women" is a common 
one that nexer gets common. In this ex- 
ceedingly short space I cannot begin to 
deal fully with such a changeable sub- 
ject. And it is foolish to say: "All women 
are so and so." But there is interest in the 
recent Portland mj'stery, where a young 
wife tried to kill her husband, in her 
jealousy of a woman that he had never 
seen. You think it absurd: . . . Ah, you 
don't know this type of woman! 

I recall a visit to a house on Green 
Street. Two cats were lying before the 
large front window, taking a sun-bath; 
an Angora in the North corner and Miss 
Finch in the South. I could easily dis- 
tinguish the two because the Angora had 
a mustache. After a short preliminary in 
which Miss Finch spoke stealthily of 
drama, we went to the theatre. Her new 
dress was a pretty one, but man-like I 
forgot myself, and never remarked it. 
And when we reached the theatre I 
openly stared at a brunette in a stunning 
costume. Miss Finch ran her eye over this 
girl's costume from head to foot, and 
then gave a contemptuous sniff. ... It 
was not until three weeks later that I saw 
her again, after she had phoned me and 
suggested liaving tea. And it was then I 
saw, that she had finally been able to get 
a costume just like the one she had sniffed 
at. But when I failed (again man-like) 
to enthuse, she immediately accused me 
of knowing that brunette ! As I was not 
her husband, murder was not attempted. 
I will not tr}' here to isolate her specie, 
but will only warn the male readers that 
she is descended from that portion of 
Eve which the snake bit. She may be 
recognized by the fact that, unlike other 
cats, she is usually smooth-sha\x'n; and 
for her tendency to carry her nose in the 
air. She is frequently seen at afternoon 
teas, though being catlike, she is oftener 
out at night. She has been discovered in 
two varieties: the parlor-cat type, which 
always tells in a loud voice about her 
luimerous accomplishments, and how 
man)- times she has been to Europe. And 
the alley-cat t)-pe, which is exceedingly 
plain, and always talking of the snob- 
bery of fine things and the good taste of 
simplicity. Of the two, the latter type is 
the worse. ]5ut because of the ignorance 
of our law makers, we dare not set out 
poison for either kind. — William Ahlr- 
fcld FLimigan. 




Rue Royale 


Fifth Avenue 

540 Sutter Street 
San Francisco 

Houston, Gilmore & Co 


Established 1913 






eptembcr \^zy 

'^^^ ^jccnt/"* 











//LA poudre;/' 

// C'E^T^' 
// MOI '■ 





atop nob hill 

Easy to reach * 
A place to meet 
your friends < to 
rest ^ to dine < 
to dance. 



Finest selection of homes, homesites, acreage, industrial sites and business 
income properties on the San Francisco Peninsula at the right prices. 

If looking for a home or homesite in a highly restricted and improved 
section we suggest that you call and inspect Atherton Acres, a portion of the 
Selby Tract at Atherton. Improvements now being completed and a number 
of beautiful homes under construction, to be sold on easy terms. 

If looking for a highly restricted and improved homesite in the Wood- 
side district we suggest that you investigate the Woodside Heights Tract, 
located on the Woodside Boulevard, opposite Menlo Country Club, a beauti- 
fully rolling foothill tract of land subdivided into i and 5 acre homesites, 
where you can have a home built to suit on terms like rent. 



or any of our Peninsula offices 



A Class "A" O^c^ Building with very desirable 

Offices to rent. 

This Building affords you a most pleasant office 
at a reasonable rate. 

607 PHELAN BLDG. —or— 420 GRANT BLDG. 


San Francisco Opera Association 

Season of 1927 

September 1 5 to October i 

Civic Auditorium 

Thursday Evening, September i 5 
Manon Lescaut {Puccini) 

Peralta, Scotti, Martinelli, D'Angelo, 
Bada, Oliviero. 
Friday Evening, September 16 
Tristan und Isolde {Wagner) 

Alsen, Meisle, Laubenthal, Amato, 
Pinza, Defrere, Oliviero, D'Angelo, 
Saturday Evening, September 17 
La Tosca {Puccini) 

Roselle, Chamlee, Scotti, D'Angelo, 
Bada, Oliviero. 
Monday Evening, September 19 
Turandot {Puccini) 

Roselle, Donnelly, Tokatyan, Picco, 
Bada, Oliviero, Sperry. 
Tuesday Evening, September 20 
Romeo et Juliette {Gounod) 

Macbeth, Chamlee, Picco, Bada, Pinza, 
D'Angelo, Defrere, Sperry. 
Thursday Evening, September 22 
// Trovatore {Verdi) 

Peralta, Meisle, Martinelli, Picco, 
Saturday Evening, September 24 
Cavalleria Ruslicana {Mascagni) and 
I Pagliacci {Leoncavallo) 

Peralta, Mario, Chamlee, Roselle, Mar- 
tinelli, Amato, Bada, Oliviero, Picco, 
Tuesday Evening, September 27 
Fal staff {Verdi) 

Scotti, Tibbett, Tokatyan, Bada, Oli- 
viero, D'Angelo, Peralta, Donnelly, 
Bourskaya, Mario. 
Wednesday Evening, September 28 
Aida {Verdi) 

Roselle, Bourskaya, Martinello, Amato, 
Pinza, D'Angelo. 
Thursday Evening, September 29 
La Cena Delle Beffe {Giordano) 

Tokatyan, Tibbett, Bada, D'Angelo, 

Picco, Oliviero, Sperry, Peralta, Don- 
nelly, Mario. 

Friday Evening, September 30 
La Boheme {Puccini) 

Macbeth, Seymour, Chamlee, Picco, 
Defrere, Pinza, Oliviero. 

Saturday Evening, October i 
Carinen {Bizet) 

Bourskaya, Donnelly, Martinelli, De- 
frere, Oliviero, Bada. 

The Theatre 

The Alcazar: The Alarm Clock. A typical 

Duffy production of an amusing comedy, 

with Marion Lord. 
Capitol: Abie's Irish Rose. Pretty old, but 

it's still alive and kicking. 
The Curran: Dark at the moment. 
Columbia: Dark too. 
The Lurie: / Love You. One of the boys 

putting on a Cupid. We recommend it. 
President: Tzvo Girls Wanted. Lots of fun, 

with our own Peggy Thomson responsible 

for most of it. 
Orpheum: Vaudeville. Beatrice Lillie, the 



California: Camille. The healthiest Ca- 
mille we've seen for years. 

St. Francis: Beau Geste. A marvelous pic- 
ture about three brothers who just dote 
on each other. 

Warfield: First run pictures, changed 
weekly; Fanchon and Marco's Ideas, with 
Walt Roesner. 

Granada: One week runs of the latest pic- 
tures, served with good musical enter- 
tainment, before and after. 


BiCAUx Arts Galerie: Group show by all 
artists members of the Beaux Art Club. 

California Palace of the Legion of 
Honor: Textiles, costumes and other art 
objects from the collections of the late 
Mrs. Phoebe .Apperson Hearst. Archer M. 
Huntington collection of period French 
furniture. Albert M. Bender collection of 
Chinese and Korean art objects. 

California School of Fine Arts: Selec- 
tion of fac-simile reproductions of works 
of early and modern European masters. 
Also reproductions of Japanese prints and 
textile designs. 

De Young Memorial Museu.m: Paintings 
and statuary by American and European 

East- West Gallery of Fine Arts: Wom- 
en's Building. New Gallery. Exhibitions 
of the works of contemporary American 
and European artists. 

Modern Gallery: Informal exhibition of 
paintings and draw'ings. Fall season opens 
September 5 . 

Telegraph Hill Tavern: Monotypes by 
Edith Stellman ; wood blocks and lino- 
leum blocks by Carl Sawvelle. 

Vicker, Atkins & Torrey: September 12 
to 24; Twelfth annual exhibition of the 
California Society of Etchers. 

Worden Gallery: Paintings by California 

Dinitig and Dancing 

The Saint Francis: The Garden Room. 

The Reigning Dynasty before your very 

The Mark Hopkins: The smart place to be 

seen for dinner and supper and the 

"last word " in dance music. 
Taits-at-the-Beach: On Sloat Boulevard. 

San Francisco's restaurant with a per- 
sonality and a view of the ocean. 
Cafe Marquard: Geary and Mason. Con- 
tinental Europe knocking at the door! 
La Casa Bigin: 441 Stockton. Where artists, 

would-be and real, talk about themselves. 
The Aladdin Studio: 363 Sutter. At your 

own risk. 
Clift Roof-Lounce: Geary at Taylor. For 

those who crave refinement. 
Cabiria: 530 Broadway. Atmosphere in the 

Italian Quarter. Informal and inexpensive. 
New Shanghai Cafe: 332 Grant Avenue. 

Oriental food and Oriental surroundings. 

Worth seeing what it's all about. 
Francis Tea Room: 315 Sutter. Bear this 

in mind if you want good food. Sundays 

too! Just opened. 
Martha Jean's: 270 Sutter and 340 Mason. 

One is as good as the other — and that 

means GOOD! 
Temple Bar Tea Room: No. i Tillman 

Place. The "grande dame" of the tea 

La Casa Alta: 442 Post. You'llbesurprised! 

— and we won't tell what it is. 





mm mm 




a J 

Joseph Dver, EJitor jnJ Tublisher 

Contributing Editors 

Charles Caldwell Dobie Mollie Merrick 
A\n A Dav Hi-BBARD Idwal Jones 

UiLLiAM A. Flanagan George Dolglas 


lot. I 

No. S 


Print-r William of SvcfJea, Photograph - - S 
All the S'fiis That's Fit to Print, By Joseph 

llfnjfrson ---------_. 9 

Sov: It Can Bf Told . . JQ 

Rfverif In A Dungfon, By Robert J. Taster - 12 

Gathered Flight, By Mary Aris Blayker - - /.' 
From Telegraph Hill, Etching 6y Blanding 

Sloan --------.. ../j' 

Vincent O'Sullivan. By Carey McH'illiams - U 
The Digger Indian Comes Into His Ov:n, 

By Dr. Phyllis Acierman ------ /5 

A Questionnaire — Strictly Local - - - - - 16 

Ok. Listen to the Opera, Dratcings by 

Sotomayor ----------- J~ 

Mrs. Jay Gould, Camera Study by .llberl 

Petersen -- . - . JS 

The Reigning Dynasty -------- yp 

As Seen By Her --------...'() 

San Francisco Predicts .In .Lrl, Photograph - 21 

The Season's Opera, By Vfington Valentine - 22 

Highlights of the Opera Season, Photographs - 23 

Dido and .leneas. By .Intonia Pia - - - - 24 

The Bookstall, By H-illiam Ahlefeld Flanagan 25 

Titans— Robert Dollar. By Gobind Behari Lai 26 








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Building, San Francisco, California, telephone Douglas j6io. Subscription price, one year $1.50. 

Single Copies 15c. Copyrighted 1917 by the San Franciscan Publishing Company. 

JS-':-.-- _ 

. t^V>.^# 

Prince William of Sweden 

A visitor to San Francisco this Fall, Prince William of Sweden, the second son of King Gustaf the Fifth, is an in- 
ternationally famous big game hunter, a \vriter of exploration books, novels, poems and plays, and a contributor to leading 

Swedish and American magazines. 




All the News That's Fit to Print 

By Joseph Henderson 


DELIRIOUS nights in which ghost- 
like Tribunes, Chronicles, Jour- 
nals, Bulletins and Graphics shout- 
ed strange mystic curses at me. I reached 
a crisis. A tree badly shaken by an earth- 
quake either dies or acclimates itself to its 
new and unchosen position. I did not die. 
One day I read with new understanding 
that splendid phrase which has made the 
New York Times almost as famous as 
Lucky Strikes and which I had hitherto 
regarded as the most established fact in 
the world outside the Parthenon and 
right-handed traffic. "All the News 
that's Fit to Print." Just as certain 
analytical doctors are said to discover the 
causes for grave sexual abberations by 
carefully pondering such statements of 
their patients as, "My father likes string 
beans," I began to have profound intro- 
spective visions of my malady by studying 
the Times' shigan. At length I reached 
the conclusion that it wasn't NEWS 
anyway and whether it was fit to print 
made no difference since it will endlessly 
continue to be printed. From then on my 
cure was easy. I read the newspapers 
more than ever but regarded the NEWS 
as the grossest unreality — complete fic- 
tion. I learned, as novelists are supposed 
to do, that to murder your husband with 
a window sash and not die for it, to 
marry an English nobleman i f you were 

born in Fort Wayne, to fly over the 
Atlantic Ocean, and to spend your vaca- 
tion in South Dakota are, as events, 
"invraisemblables." But they may be 
wonderful fantasy. 

•* — fr 
A PRINTED page of articles on the 
Soviet Government, the heat wave 
in New England, a Rotary Club conven- 
tion in Vladivostok, and pictures of 
Helen Wills, Brancusi's "Bird in 
Flight," and Rudolph Valentino's ghost 
produces the same sense of fantastic un- 
reality one feels before certain skyscrap- 
ers whose ground floors glistening with 
cigar stores, plate glass and white tiling 
support the Gothic spires of a medieval 
church or the turrets of a French Renais- 
sance chateau. 

When the Dadaists began work in 
France everybody pretended not to un- 
derstand them whereas they were only 
doing self-consciously in, a few isolated 
p )ems and ess;iys, what the American 
press does every day unconsciously and 
voluminoush'. Should one say that the 
newspapers arc natural Dadaists or that 
the Dadaists were only aesthetic news- 
paper reporters? 

But if the newspapers have anything 
in common with Dadaism they are also 
profoundly comic. A noted philanthro- 
pist dies in a headline under which Pres- 

ident Coolidge makes a speech, Yale 
wins a football game and Paris decrees 
shorter skirts. Examining the items sep- 
arately I suppose they seem to correspond 
soberly enough to the reality they reflect, 
but let your eyes wander loosely from 
one to the other and see if you are not 
inwardly consumed with laughter at 
their miraculous incongruity. The comic 
effect comes from a certain over- 
abundance of real but unrelated facts of 
widely-varying importance, on all of 
which is placed the same impartial em- 
phasis. It is the secret of all American 
comedy. Buster Keaton receives a kiss 
from his girl or a blow from his enemy 
with the same impassive gravity. Fanny 
Brice as Camille lies dying in her lover's 
arms. In a voice quivering with emotion 
and a Jewish accent she says, "I've been 
a bad woman, Armand, but awfully 
good company." In John Howard Law- 
son's "Processional" one part of the stage 
is occupied with the action of a murder, 
a rape, and a man hunt while near the 
footlights a silk-hatted politician says, 
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I have the pleas- 
ure to announce that today is Mother's 

But fantasy and comedy are not the 
real gifts of the newspaper. The Four 
Marx Brothers, Chicago and Market 

(Continued to Page 29) 

The San Franciscan 

Now It Can Be Told 

'T~'HE recent eruption of bathing beau- 
-*■ ties, displayed in all its virulence re- 
cently in the lobby of one of our down- 
town hotels, has shed some vari-colored 
sidelights which may interest our hordes 
of readers even more than the snappy 
bathing suits and glossy ringlets of the 
candidates for the accolade of Miss 



The following simple enumeration of 
a few tidbits will serve: 

1. The plaint on the part of the official 
hostess to the visiting group anent the 
reluctance of the candidates to conform 
to urban standards. "They have to be 
lassoed and tied to make 'em put on shoes 
and stockings and take a bath even every 
other day," she fondly reminisces. 

2. The official chaperones proved so 
sprightly, jovial and youthful in spirit 
that they were often mistaken for the 
infant beauties, thereby causing embar- 
rassment to both groups and annoyance 
to one. 

3. International tolerance and appre- 
ciation were fostered through a visit paid 
to the Japanese war vessels in our harbor 
by a specially conducted horde of these 
professional fair ones. After the first 
shock of mutual surprise on the part of 
our samurai guests as well as on the part 
of Miss Walnut Creek and her girl 
friends, undying amity was entluisias- 
tically pledged. 

VITTE are well aware that a man who 
"^ presses an electric light button is 
obeying a time-honored Biblical injunc- 
tion which commands, "Let there be 
light." But we do feel that whoever 
turns on the hectic red and yellow illum- 
ination on the facade of the City Hall 
on state and stated occasions is carrjing 
a good thing too far. 

Maybe it's art, and it is just conceiv- 
able that we don't appreciate it, but it 
looks to us like an old-fashioned drug 
store window gone crazy. The color 
scheme might possibly be appropriate for 
the decoration of some Fascist headquar- 
ters. The effect is undoubtedly late Ital- 

ian, reminiscent rather of Neopolitan ice 
cream. We venture to suggest that in San 
Francisco is lacks appropriateness, to say 
nothing of beauty. 

YVTE have met Nell, the mountaineer's 
'^ daughter! You know her, the girl 
who was never done right by in the good 
old sawmill, thundering locomotive, two 
gun mellerdramer days. 

Not long since, wearied in body and 
mind, we sought the higher levels of the 
G;reat open spaces for a brief respite from 
the ceaseless clatter of our installment 
plan typewriter. Somewhere in God's 
great garden we stopped our powerful 
motor and stretched our plus-fours in 
front of a little log cabin. 

Our musings on the hardships of rig- 
orous pioneer life were interrupted by 
the appearance of a girl who obviously 
was a resident of the above-mentioned 
cabin. We turned our effetely pitj'ing 
gaze on this little, timid mountain rose, 
but we stayed to stare. 

Her skirts were short, her stockings 
silk, her satin slippers high-heeled. Hair 
bobbed in ultra modern fashion, the em- 
phasis of rouge pot and eyebrow pencil 
definite, our Nell took her stance in no 
uncertain manner. She knew her stuff, 
we were satisfied at a glance that ever\'- 
one would do right by her in these so- 
phisticated days. 

The simple, streamline calico, the hats 
made by loving hands at home are all 
things of the past. Nell keeps abreast of 
the times, and she knows she has the right 
information. And what helps her get it? 
Knowledge comes imdulating throusjh 

buffetings and surgings of the mountain 
roads, but soon that obstacle, too, will be 
surmounted. Surely Lindbergh has not 

braved the elements in vain! 

-^> — '^ 

the receiving set, cr}'stal clear, up-to-date 
amorous technique pulls up in a flivver, 
and romance is cranked out nightly, ten 
reels at a time, only twenty miles away. 
The only thing that Nell and her swain 
perchance sacrifice is the accepted trade- 
mark of the wages of gin — the hip 
flask! No pocket could withstand the 

TT has come to our somewhat protuber- 

ant ears that a large number of our 

sturdv yeomanry were startled out of 

their customary calm on several evenings 
not long since on observing a strange 
phenomenon taking place in the square 
in the Civic Center. True it is, in fact, 
Scripture hath it, that a good woman is 
more precious than rubies, but then, that 
was when women were more plentiful 
and gems cheaper. On the other hand, 
silence is golden, and in face of these 
conflicting axioms our citizenry were not 
a little alarmed at the spectacle of ap- 
parently good women composing, of all 
things, a female drum corps, and rat- 
tatting their iniquity at ten o'clock at 
night before the grim fronts of dignified 

It was an entirely feminine fracas, 
and the reason for it seems shrouded in 
mj'stery. Why one woman, let alone 
twenty, should get any thrill out of per- 
forming elaborate operations on a drum 
seems inexplicable. 

The exhibition lasted for some time 
— the lady virtuoso always stern-visaged, 
strictly military in manner, steadily 
marching first hither and yon, and then, 
turning on their ground-gripper heels, 
seemingly just to carry on pro and con. 

It impossible to discover what it 
was all about, but God pity their poor 
husbands on a night like this! 

'T'HE unutterably sad plight of a small 
class of men, who might well be re- 
ferred to as one of the world's most piti- 
ful cases, struck home with special inten- 
sity, for absolutely no reason at all, the 
other evening. 

We number on our ever-growing list 
of subscribers many music lovers, many 
patrons of the arts, but what one among 

them has ever paused to consider the pa- 
tient beater of the kettledrum, the ath- 
letic striker of the cymbal, and the agile 
wielder of tambourine, castanet, and tri- 
angle in the complex organization of an 
orchestra of any size at all? 

Our critics write of the tone of the 
stringed instruments, the power of the 
brasses, and the sweetness of the wood- 
winds, but who thinks of the fellow who 
stands for twenty minutes with upraised 
drumstick, feverishly following the 
score, so that he may hit home at just 
the right moment? 

It is well for us to pause and think on 
the importance of these neglected func- 
tions. Suppose the high-priced flutist were 
drowned out by the thunder of the kettle- 
drum, or the nervous violinist were dis- 
concerted by premature cymbalism ! We 
wish to raise our deepening voice in pro- 
test, and champion the neglected rear 
row in the orchestra, the men who take 
their stands and do their duties fime after 
time with no recognition, no glory, no 
appreciation, no compensation save the 
paltry stipend demanded by the musi- 
cians' union, the most powerful and the 
richest labor organization in this cit)'! 

"XTOWADAYS, no sooner is the Chief 
-"-^Executive of the land quiet in his 
bier, than the dear people create a golf 
sooner is the golf course created, the hot 
dog and pink lemonade concession is 
leased to some vendor with a political 
drag, than the same dear people go forth 
to disport themselves. 

There is one other feature of this de- 
mocratizing of golf that cries out for 
mention. The public course reveals all 
the manly qualities in the hearts of the 
hoi follo'i. With a fine disregard for 
aristocratic conventions and deliberations, 
balls fly through the air from every poss- 

ible direction, aimed for the greens, it is 
true, but ofttimes halted by some exposed 
portion of an unsuspecting player's anat- 
omy. This has been interpreted by our 
more serious thinkers as a post-war man- 
ifestation, since in making the world 
safe for democracy we have acquired a 

general carelessness and lack of interest 
in the preservation of human life. Each 
man for himself, is the new golf slogan, 
and let him protect his own hindmost! 

^— !«• 
TyrORE in sorrow than in anger, we 
^ feel impelled to comment on a cer- 
tain form of so-called entertainment 

which has by now become so prevalent 
in our midst that it is being rammed 
down our repelled, though tonsil-free, 
throats at every possible opportunity. 

We have reference to what is dished 
out to us in every movie theater under 
the pseudonym of prologue. More and 
more emphasis is being placed on this 
form of refined torture, and although 
we know we are knocking our cerebrums 
against impenetrable stone, we just must 

To particularize just a trifle, let us say 
that the so-called feature film is some- 
where, somehow, suggestive of Spain. 
What do we have first? An orchestral 
medley, to be polite about it, beginning 
with faintly recognizable strains of Car- 
men, graduating to Valencia, and con- 
cluding, oh so cleverly, with In a Little 
Spanish Town. After that comes an 
aging, baldish gent, dressed in our local 
costumer's finest sash, and carrying the 
familiar broad - brimmed black hat, 
which he can't wear because it's three 
sizes too small for him. As often as not, 
his female counterpart comes along too, 
and then both of them try to drown each 
other out, until one or the other retires 
completely routed. 

Either a so-called Spanish dance, in 
which the castanets camouflage techni- 
cal errors, or a dingily clad chorus is 
offered. To describe the chorus would 
take pages. Suffice it to say that it prances 
on, amply representing the "south of 
the slot" district. After violent shoutings 
and shakings, it is mercifully veiled from 
our sight by the rapid descent of the cur- 
tain, which falls, alas, without decapi- 
tating a single member of the chorus. 

Perhaps the film is Oriental. What 
happens then is indescribable. We are 
regaled by local would-be ladies of the 
harem, most of whom have forgotten 
to remove their Waltham wrist-watches 

The San Franciscan 

(the wages of sin), and their Wrigley 
wads (a sin in itself). They gyrate 
abominably and abdominally for horri- 
ble minutes, until the sheik appears. Then 
they fall to the ground and moan, while 
he warbles something about the sands of 
the desert, to the accompaniment of 
Hawaiian music. 

We are thinking of forming an or- 
ganization to be called The Society for 
the Prevention of Cruelty to Audiences. 
To that man among us possessed of the 
temerity to rise from his seat in a dark- 
ened theater and express his disapproval 
by the flinging of but a single egg, will 
be awarded a specially devised trophy 

appropriate to his courage. 

-jj — {«• 

A N anecdote illustrative of the astute- 
■'■ *■ ness and perspicacity of our far- 
famed police department has recently 
come to our attention, and we feel that 
it should be made a matter for public 
record for all time. 

An automobile employed in business 
by one of our gentry was recently stolen 
in the downtown district. The theft was 
at once reported to the police. Verily a 
beau geste, we deem it. Several days later 
the owner of the car was riding home 
on the humble street car, when he ob- 
served his car abandoned at the curb in 
an outlying district. He immediately took 
possession of his property in great glee. 

The next morning he started to leave 
home in his own conveyance, when the 
burly, blue-coated right arm of the law 
stepped up to him, and grasped him firm- 
ly by the back of his size 1 6 collar. The 
following dialogue ensued: 

"That's a stolen car," quoth the oflS- 
cer. "You can't run it." 

"This is my car and I will run it," 
came the irate response. 

"You're getting out, and I'm taking 

the car to headquarters," carolled the 
cop, suiting the action to the word. 

The owner prepared to show identifi- 
cation cards,. tattoo marks and whatnots, 
all to no avail. He stood ignominiously 
in the gutter and watched the law drive 
off towards tlie beach and way stations, 

(Continued on Page 33) 

The San Franciscan 


Reverie In A Dungeon 

But You— Oh, When That Time Comes, You'll Be Dirty Too 

By Robert J. Tasker 

Editor's Note: Robert J. Tasker. an inmate of San 
Quentin, is but 24 years old. and his writings, as ex- 
cellent as they have been sparse, have appeared in the 
"American Mercury^' and other periodicals. He has 
been acclaimed for the vividness of his perceptions and 
beiuty of style by such divergent critics as H. L. 
Mencfcen and Jim Tidly. 

YOU made such a magnificent pic- 
ture ! There were crisp, blue-green 
spruce trees on the hillside, a lovely 
background behind you as you ran down 
the steps to the water's edge. You wore 
gay colors and, as you passed, the ragged 
old cedar tree brushed you, caressed you 
with senile chastit)'. You too were chaste 
— and so young! 

Endless things I did — such augment- 
ing proprieties! And all to aid your re- 
clining on the silk cushions in our little 
boat. Taps and pats, and minute rear- 
ranging until, at last, you were like a 
Nile Goddess on her barge. Or a Vene- 
tian Princess in her gondola. . . . But 
our waters were broader and more vir- 

Out onto tlie calm waters I propelled 
us; toiling at the stern until you became 
solicitous. You begged me to rest. Come 
lay with me on these cushions, you im- 
plored, there is so much room. And I 
obeyed you. So we drifted while the sun 
was sinkino;, drifted under rao-jred cliffs, 
and by jutlands aflame with autumn 
leaves. Sometimes the small wa\es lapped 
and lulled against the hull — an even, 
solemn, hypnotic force that erased the 
past, erased the future, erased all the 
world, and left you and me drifting, 

The waves sank into calm. By some 
ledgerdcmain my arm had encircled you. 
Our faces were close, and without effort 
or movement it seemed, we turned, read 
in each other's eyes, and our lips met, 
trembled, and drew away — the most in- 
nocent thing. We pressed together so 
that warmth of body knew answering 
warmth. There were the first faint 
curves of womanhood, but I would not 
think of those things — for I held you 
too sacred. 

The sun was lowering over a crest of 
mountains. Ct)lors were changing o\er 
the world, soft, diffused shades of blues, 
and reds, and yellows — then purples. 

So beautiful it seemed that tears started 
in your eyes and wept. And because you 
wept, damned-up pools of felicity burst 
in me. Tears coursed down our close- 
pressed cheeks, mingling together. When 
our lips met there was the taste of salt, 
and we swooned in the swirling kaleido- 
scopic lights of ecstasy. 

(jathered Flight 

By Mary Avis Bi.avker 

Ferry at Night 

Blue dome 

Of night, luminescent; 

White rush of stars, 

Bl.ick sea, silent . . . 


1 too am still. 

Berkeley Canyoii 

Black roots 

Clutching under, thrusting out 

You make good wrestlers! 

Black trunks 

Slick and winding into snarls. 

How you quarrel ! 

Black branches 

Curve and iveight of green 

You touch the light. 


Here they paused — 
Gathered their flight. 
Filled the bright measure, 
Flung the blue vault 
Westward far . . . 
Far westward. 

A ND now I 

I am a thief — a common thief in 
a dungeon! While the lights burned I 
saw small, dark, living things creeping 
on the walls and ceiling. Now that the 
lights are out they will drop to my 
wretched coverings, creep in on me and 
feast, as they are wont, of the carrion — 
the filth thrown aside by humanity. 

The mouth you once knew, has 
drooped and sagged; become contorted 
by base emotions and worldly habits. 
The face you called ivory is scales, dark 
splotches and deep-cut lines. The eyes 
have lost their luster and their color. 
The body is a rack for ill-fitting rags. 
A thief I A common thief in a dungeon 

AND you? Ho, my dear! I have 
heard! You married a youth of pure 
Semetic blood. Did he marry you for 
love? Or for entre into your nice social 
plane? And did you marry for love, my 
dear? Or did you marry his papa's gold? 

I have seen his papa — do you call him 
that? I have seen Papa's blue, porcine 
jowls, his gigantic paunch — he is a mon- 
ster of jelly on weakly, wobbly legs. 
What a lovely papa! But then, dear lady, 
he has the gold, has he not? 

How odd that it should be so, but even 
here I have obtained your picture. It was 
wrapped around a certain bowl they gave 
me for my dungeon ! You look very nice, 
my dear. That look of the female roue 
fits you nicely. It is better to have some 
character — something people can iden- 
tify. They can look at you, or even at 
your picture, and say. Now this woman 
is a libertine. See the hard lines of dissi- 
pation and ennui in her face? 

But you are shrewd now, eh, my dear? 
I see how well you love Papa's gold. It 
shows so plainly in this picture. When is 
Papa scheduled to die? Let me know, 
dear lady, and I will come around and 
steal a bag of the precious stuff — just 
for old time's sake. For I am a thief 
now, you know, quite a common one 
... In a dungeon. 


/^LD times! What a beautiful couple 
^-^ we were! Naivete Incarnate! Ho 
me ! . . . But there are ashes in our 
mouths, now, are there not, my dear? 

From Telegraph Hill, San Francisco 

By Btanding Sloan 

The San Franciscan 

Vincent O'Sullivan 

A Celebrated Critic Begs Recognition For a Great American Author 

B\' Carey McWilliams 

Editor's Note: Harold Mason of the Centaur Book 
Shop of Philadelphia has informed us that Mr. Mc- 
Williams is the only O'Sullivan collector in America, 
According to the best of our knowledge this is the first 
article to be published in an American magazine de- 
voted to a consideration of O'Sullivan, 

THE history of the American novel 
is the story of disreputable literary 
legends gradually evolving into the 
figures of highly respected and dearly 
beloved novelists. Mr. Dreiser was at 
first such a disreputable legend, a mon- 
ster of Germanic origin who debauched 
the fair name of American ideals and 
spat on the cherished sanctums of the 
home. So it is with Mr. Cabell, and so 
with Vincent O'Sullivan. Mr. O'Sulli- 
van, however, still remains a legend, if, 
in fact, he exists at all in the mind of 
literary America. 

"In deploring the glycosuria which 
afflicts American fiction, I forget O'Sul- 
livan. He, too, I believe, is an American, 
and he stands outside the general decline. 
Like Cabell, he will be heard from here- 
after." Thus wrote H. L. Mencken in 
the SMART SET for March, 191 8, the 
Mencken who had not then achieved all 
the hideous consequences of success. 
O'Sullivan is only nominally an Ameri- 
can. He was born in New York in 1872, 
when the mauve decade was a nascent 
dream of gaudiness. He fled from 
America at a fortunately early age and 
attended Exeter College, Oxford. He 
then moved into France. In 1918 he be- 
came associated with the University of 
Rennes and since, or so I have been in- 
formed, has been associated with the 
University of Paris. When you have said 
all this, and the fact that he was one of 
the only American contributors to Ar- 
thur Symons' "The Savoy," and you have 
completed the sources of information 
about the man. He made his first appear- 
ance as an American novelist through a 
back door, for his first and greatest novel 
was suppressed by the cultured Bos- 

"The Good Girl" is in my opinion one 
of the most exquisite and delightful of 
our suppressed novels. Faint, slightly 
purple, rumors had been circulated after 
its publication in England, but when it 
was published in tliis country the Bos- 

tonians attempted to suppress it and have 
apparently succeeded. The novel is the 
story of an unforgettable person, Mrs. 
Drover, whom H. M. Boynton has de- 
scribed as a voluptuous, ageless pagan. 

■^ -'& 
r\ESPITE Mr. V. F. Calverton, and 
^-^ his school of economic-aesthetics, 
there are some people who feel with J. F. 
Spingarn that the artist creates his own 
conditions and that conditions create the 
artist. O'Sullivan creates in this manner. 
His work is detached, remote, placidly 
resplendent, and full of deep harmonies. 
I doubt if there has been written by an 
American a better novel, technically, 
than "The Good Girl." It is as sym- 
metrical as a pear: complete and satisfy- 
ing and golden. It is the product of irony, 
sophistication and culture. The man who 
wrote it was steeped in that St. Augus- 
tinian wisdom of which he has written, 
for it is significant that the author of 
a vigorously suppressed novel should be 
the translator of Louis Bertrand's fa- 
mous life of "St. Augustine." 

"Sentiment" was published in 19 1 7 
and came as a distinct anti-climax to 
"The Good Girl." You can find copies 
of "Sentiment" drowsing away on old 
book shelves; no one reads it or seems to 
have ever read it. It is the story of the 
softness of human nature, of people 
steeped in sentiment. Nothing is more 
illusory than sentiment, nothing so sickly 
and universal, and hence nothing is more 
difficult to delineate from an objective 
viewpoint. Aldous Huxley has written of 
the "soft spots" of sentiment that exist 
in apparently the toughest-minded indi- 
viduals and in this novel O'Sullivan 
treats of the amazing irrationalit)' and 
anuising insanity of sentiment. Guileless 
as it appears to be on the surface, seem- 
ingly all pinks and smirking lilies, yet 
underneath one detects the hard laughter 
of irony. 

A BOOK of Bargains" was pub- 
-^ ■*■ lished in 1896. It is a collection 
of O'SuIiivan's stories with a frontis- 
piece by Aubrey Beardsley. O'Sullivan, 
of course, belonged to the Beardsley 
school of the romantic nineties. It was 

during this period when Ernest Dowson, 
Lionel Johnson, Aubrey Beardsley, Rich- 
ard LeGallienne and Herbert Crackan- 
thorpe were specializing in the more ex- 
otic forms of "vice" that O'Sullivan 
did most of his work. This is, perhaps, 
regrettable. The talent of these men of 
the nineties was not without its powerful 
effect on the moderns who followed, 
but today, after Havelock Ellis, such 
writing seems a trifle girlish. The moral 
weakness of the aesthetic impulse of the 
period is shown in this collection of 
O'SuIiivan's stories. 

"Human Affairs" is another collec- 
tion of stories by O'Sullivan. It is a rare 
item for collectors and was published 
in Holland in 1907. In an article in 
"The Savoy" entitled "On a Kind of 
Fiction Called Morbid," O'Sullivan 
once wrote: "Let us cling by all means 
to our George Meredith, our James — 
but then let us try, if we cannot be tow- 
ards others, unlike these, if not encour- 
aging, at least, not actively hostile and 
harassing, when they go out in the black 
night to follow their own sullen will-o'- 
the-wisps." Such, ironically, appears to 
be O'SuIiivan's own difficulty in these 
stories. They have a very definitely in- 
dividual qualit)' about them but it was 
a black night in which they were pro- 
jected in O'SuIiivan's imagination and 
nothing could be more comparable to a 
will-o'-the-wisp than the slender thread 
of feeling that flutteringly agitates them 
into a semblance of life. 

"The Green Window" is a collection 
of sketches, pencil-pictures, of emotion. 
The book is a very attractive publication 
and was brought out by Leonard Smith- 
ers, London, 1899. The central study is 
one called "Will" which appeared orig- 
inally in the "Mercure de France" un- 
der the title of "La Scarabee Finnebre." 
Other titles in the volume are "Dear," 
"Good," Vaunt," "Glide," "Faint" and 
"Sob." They are representative of the 
Beardsley mood of affected abnegation 
and ostentatious despair. Surely some 
miasmatic aroma must have poisoned the 
air of the times to have wilted so many 
young souls! One is reminded of Oscar 
(Continued to Page 33j 

The San Franciscan 

An OviiRMANTLE b-j Jeanette Dyer Spencer. 

By arranging the central patterns from the bottoms of porno and Hupa baskets the artist has created a composition of centrifugal force that 
spends itself in broicen sweeps of lighter lines and is balanced by strong horizontals. 

The Digger Indian Comes Into His Own 

Bx Dr. Phyllis Ackerman 

THE .Aztecs, the men and women of 
the Pueblos, all of the original 
Americans of the Southwest are 
honored for the strength of design and 
skill of craftsiTianship in their pottery 
and rugs and the dignity and rhythm of 
their ceremonial dances. The Alaskans 
are respected for the ingenuit)- of their 
totem poles and many of the Mexican 
and Central American tribes are known 
to have produced artists of inerit. But 
the Diggers of California have been ac- 
corded no consideration save by the an- 
thropologists and occasional collectors 
of special interest. 

The very name Digger seems some- 
how ignominious despite the fact that it 
signifies only the California Indians' 
usual method of obtaining food. It seems 
to indicate a mean creature, devoid of 
aesthetic merits. Perhaps this is one rea- 
son for their neglect. But whatexcr the 
reason the fact remains that the Cali- 
fornia Indian has not been generally 
conceded any significant status, not been 
credited with any admirable accomplish- 

^'et on the baskets of these ill consid- 
ered Diggers there is a series of patterns, 
ingenious, varied, interesting and in 
man)- instances strikingly beautiful, a 
source of a new style of decoration ready 
to the designer's hand. There are borders, 
both horizontal and vertical, ranging in 
scale and complexity from simple tiny 
headings to compound stripes focussed on 
strong, carrying motives. There are spot 
designs, both roiuid and square, fre- 
quently with borders to match. And, 
most iiTiportant of all, there are the ele- 
ments of patterns of great variet}' but all 
in the same idiom, which constitute a 
new alphabet of ornament. In short, the 
California Indians were not only the 
most competent basket weavers known, 
htit were also among the most talented 

To be sure these Indians commandeil 
only the one medium, basketry. The pot- 
tery, textiles, carving and metal work 
of other tribes were beyond their range. 
But in that mediinn they evolved de- 
signs S(j sound in structure they could 

equally well be adapted to a great many 
other uses. 

CUCH an adaptation has just been made 
^ tor the first time in the decoration of 
the new Ahwahnee Hotel in the Yosem- 
ite Valley. These basket motives have 
been transcribed and with little or no 
modification adapted to the essental 
forms of architectural decoraton. Both 
borders and spots are painted, for ex- 
ample, on the beams in the great main 
lounge, making a rich and colorful ceil- 
ing such as the Florentines of the Renais- 
sance created, but in this wholly differ- 
ent, indigenous st}le. Again, narrower 
borders have been used around the tops 
of the bedroom walls in place of cornices 
and though rendered in flat paint they 
are strong enough to carry this impor- 
tant architectural role. A mosaic in the 
floor of the entrance lobby is especially 
interesting because it is a new idea tech- 
nically as well as artistically. The ground 
of the floor is acid stained cement. The 
design is in a comp )sition tile, made of a 
(Continued on Page 34) 

The San Franciscan 

A Questionnaire-Strictly Local 

How Well Do You Know Your Old San Francisco? 

1. What recognized poet was Mayor of 
San Francisco, and when? 

2. What artist was called the "Innes of 
the West"r 

3. Three blind pedlers were immortal- 
ized by what author, in what restau- 

4. With what play, by what author, did 
the tide of success of the Alcazar 
Theatre commence? 

5. What was the highest building in 
San Francisco before the Spreckels? 

6. Who was Ooofty Goofty? 

7. What steamer sank off the Golden 
Gate with a great cargo of gold and 
was never found ? 

8. Whowere'TesJeunes"? 

9. What Bohemian restaurant was fa- 
mous for the throwing of catsup bot- 

10. What production opened the Colum- 
bia Theatre on Van Ness Avenue 
after the fire of '06? 

1 1. What great dancers were products of 
San Francisco? 

12. What public production developed 
most romances among the San Fran- 
cisco elite? 

13. What was the first social and resi- 
dential center of San Francisco? 

14. What was the iiaunt of connoisseurs 
of Terrapin and Mumm? 

I 5. Who was the social arbiter foi' many 
years, and why? 

16. What was the delight of the Wal- 
dorf Bar? 

17. Who is responsible for the expres- 
sion: "San Francisco — the city that 
knows how?" 

18. What well-known theatrical pro- 
ducers were born in San Francisco? 

19 From whose home were "The Por- 
tals of the Past" taken? 

20. What was the sensational story of a 
violinist who thrilled San Francisco 
in the early seventies? 

2 1. Who was Mammy Pleasant 

22. What bar closed an iiour before pro- 
hibition became effective, on the 
wroimd that the place had an exem- 
plary reputation and did not want to 
have it spoiled by last minute r(jwdy- 

Flower Girl 

By Edwin Duerr 

I sent you orchids frail witli beauty, 
Although my purse was — well, not 

Because I thought it was my tluty 
For having seen you blush. 

Since then I've plucked the floral garden 
A thousand times. My purse is lame. 

But still your heart will not unharden. 
You sock me just the same. 

I'm through. Just now I'm taking my 
word ' 

You'll get no flowers for each tear 
Until I'm pushing daisies skyward. 

Then vou can have them, dear. 


2 ]. Wliat Jiappened to .Ambrose IJierce? 

24. Who was the famed bcatity of the 
Midway Plaisance? 

25. Wliat was the San Francisco s;)ng 
fainous during the Spanish American 

26. Who was Rigo? 

27. What political boss was carried the 
length of Market Street o ntlie shoul- 
ders of an enthusiastic inob after a 
successful campaign? 

28. What famous singer leaned out of 
the window of the Palace Hotel the 
morning of the 1906 catastrophe, 
and screamed : "Save me. I am . . ." 

29. What artist, playwright, poet and 
critic produced Ibsen's "Ghosts" on 
Russian Hill and burned the house 
during the production? 

30. What San Francisco show-girl di- 
vorced a Pittsburgh inillionaire to 
become engaged to an Infanta of 
Spain ? 

31. What San Francisco girl was the in- 
spiration of Massenet's "Thais"? 

32. What former Belvedere debutante is 
now a Paris "hostess" to Kings and 
Queens and that sort of thing? 

33. What former San Francisco interior 
decorator is now America's foremost 
fashion authority on "The Well- 
dressed Hain"? 

34. Where did Edwin Booth live while 
\isiting San Francisco f 

35. What two grand operas had their 
American premieres in San Fran- 

36. Who was the San Francisco physi- 
cian called over to Belgium during 
the World War to show the Belgians 
how "to chew their food"? 

37. What famous prima donna sang in 
the streets of San Francisco? 

38. Who was sorry he wrote "The Pur- 
ple Cow"? 

39. What puet was called the California 

40. To whose name is the ugliest monu- 
ment in San Francisco erected? 

41. What did Sutter get out of the dis- 
covery of gold? 

42. Who was James King? 

43. Who was the San Franciscan who 
served Batavian Rice to the Prince of 

{Answers on Page 28) 


Listen to the Opera! 

Glocm and the Diamond 

Among the li jx-h ildcrs at the open 
were Mr. and Mrs. L. Upton Priceand 
their debutant.- daughter Francine. La 
Price twinkles brighter than thefanuus, but neither the diva nor the dia- 
monds suffice to dispel the audible 
slumbers of Pere Price. Francine, as 
she looks down coyh-, wonders if her 
legs will ever look like Mama's. 

The San Franciscan 

Opera Bluff 
Alwavs among those barely present is 
Herbert Putterer, connoisseur, crapchang- 
er and critic for the Furniture Dealers' 
Monthly. The arduous duties of a critic 
are soul-stirring to Herbert. He never 
hopes to live to hear Carmen well sung. 
|ust now he wonders if he is looking crit- 
ical enough. 

Latin Love 

There's no doubt that the sapran) will 
bring down the house — she his tho bulk 
to do it. She's furious, though, because the 
tenor, somewhat eclipsed in her shadow, 
drowns her out at times. Just at the mo- 
ment, she's making audible love to him, 
but she's considering meanwhile all the 
more refined methods of murder. 

"Bella! Bellissima!" 

Ton^', fisherman though he be, knows 
his onions — and garlic. This is only the 
first act of "Carmen," but he shakes the 
gallery with his ardor and odor. The ex- 
tremely Nordic couple in front are study- 
ing the program feverishly to find out 
just who this Bella Bellissima is, as they 
cower in horror before the screaming en- 

Drazvptgs by 

AI usual Re»iinisce)ue 

For two hours Mrs. \'an Titter has 
napped. She is suddenly awakened by the 
familiar strains of The Wedding March. 
Beating time with her finger which sports 
a new square emerald, she nudges Henry 
and with a muffled shriek of recognition, 
triumphantly reminds him of the fact that 
it the very same tune that was played 
when "dear papa" led her down the aisle 
thirty odd years ago. Henry vaguely re- 
calls the incident. 

The San Franciscan 

Mrs. Jay Gould 

The visit of Mrs. Gould of New York City to San Francisco this winter, 
is anticipated by the Reigning Dynasty. 

Camera study by Albert Petersen 

The San F 



The Reigning Dynasty 

WHAT is so dull as a big city in the 
height of the summer season, par- 
ticularly when that summer season 
is in California? San Francisco for the 
last two months has been the sort of place 
where people go for a rest. The Reign- 
ing Dynasty has been elsewhere. Many 
have confided to us that the huge dark 
fog clouds rolling into the city like enor- 
mous grey elephants looked pretty good 
to them after a scorching time of it at 
Mrs. Somebody-or-other's countr}' home 
in the interior. None-the-less no one has 
stayed at home unless — well, there are 
several reasons why the few who re- 
mained in town did. 

•«— * 
TT doesn't seem possible, but still rumor 
persists that many of your younger 
rulers were seen at Tait's-at-the-Beach 
at the time when all the California bath- 
ing beauties were entertained at a dinner 
dance there. Why any of the boys should 
crave more pulchritude than that which 
they find within the sacred walls of their 
own sacred domain is hard to fathom. 
It is also whispered that the beauties did 
not take kindly to some of the intruders 
and objecting to their style of wrestle 
left them in the middle of the floor. Life 
is like that and so are women. Always 
slow to appreciate a social advantage. 

' I 'HE League of Nations should give a 
vote of thanks to Del Monte, for the 
management is now endeavoring to bring 
Europe to America and doing it in such 
a way that it need not fear the immigra- 
tion laws. "International nights" have 
been the vogue at the popular hotel and 
many of the Reigning Dynasty have en- 
tertained at dinner parties in the grill 
where the festivities have taken place. 
Among the most hilarious has been Mrs. 
Kenneth Monteagle and of course, 
Gouveneur Morris and the everpresent 
Francis McComases. 

Speaking of Del Monte, may we not 
congratulate Mr. Sam Morse on the 
choice of a name for his new yacht? In 
this day and age of platitudes and 
mechanisms and original thought, no 
matter how raucous, is welcomed and 
relished. Most of us enjoy irony, too, a 
great deal more than we do satire. There 
is a difference, you know. But haven't 
you heard? Yes, indeed, he calls it 

"VJED Way burn has spoiled many a 
^ Junior League member's summer 
holidays with his extraordinary and vi- 
cious announcement that any girl who 
wishes to participate in the League's show 
this year must not weigh more than 
ninety-five pounds. Our authority for 
this is unsafe and we are inclined to think 
the whole thing, the evil imaginings of 
some morbid mind. What a dreadful 
spectacle the performance would be, if 
all the normal hundred and thirty pound- 
ers dieted and exercised themselves down 
to the unhealthy below par quota. What 
an evening of spectres! How true, then 
would be the rag, bone, hank of hair 
theory, with strong emphasis on the bone. 
Junior League, of course, has been 
quiet during the summer but much is 
expected of the shop which they wll open 
in Temple Bar .Alley on September 12. 
At present the work is being supervised 
by Mrs. Warren Clark. The fashion 
shows at the Hotel Mark Hopkins which 
were such a great success at the begin- 
ning of the year have been delayed be- 
cause of the Boue Soeurs shipments but 
will be resumed early this Fall. The res- 
ervations for the fashion shows and teas 
have at all times been great. For the 
nominal sum of seventy'-five cents the 
spokes may gaze upon the hub, undis- 

A SUITE at the St. Francis and a 
■'- ^ house at Pebble Beach with jew- 
elled bath tubs is one way to spend a 
million dollars. Oh lady, lady, you re- 
mind us of our childhood days when we 
mar\elled at the tales of kings who ate 
from damond-set gold services. None- 
the-less we think you are as beautiful as 
those princesses in the stories and if you 
like colored bath tubs, it's your privilege. 

'TpHIS month marks the opening of the 
-*- opera season. Once more San Fran- 
cisco will go through the indignity of 
seeing superior opera presented in an in- 
ferior house. The ladies will again don 
their glorious- gowns and sumptions 
wraps only to sit on hard, wooden chairs 
and suffer through five acts with a 
draught sweeping their backs. During 
the intermissions they will bundle into 
their furs, stagger into the icy corridor 
and warm their noses with a cigarette. 
We see that Frances Ames will again 

take care of the properties and if there 
is a much harder or more tedious job 
under the sun we want to hear about it. 
Her Alaskan trip has no doubt refreshed 
her; it could not enhance her beauty. 

'T~'HERE has been a decided splash in 
San Francisco's social puddle the past 
month due to the arrival of Dr. Ali Kula 
Khan, our ex-Persian Minister, with his 
famous art collection (valued over a 
million dollars) and his equally devastat- 
ing, if less costly son, Rahim. It is the 
first time the brilliant and charming Mr. 
Khan has descended upon us since the 
Exposition in 19 15, when the Reigning 
Dynasty vied with each other in enter- 
taining he and his family. A Persian 
prince, always a novelty, was even more 
so at the time when princes were elusive, 
awe-provoking things. Since then he has 
held the two important posts of Ambas- 
sador to Russia and Turkey. At the lat- 
ter legation his American wife complied 
with the custom of being veiled, rather 
enjoying the keen flavor of intrigue that 
permeated oriented diplomatic life. They 
have been wintering in New York from 
where the father and son came early this 
summer to spend some time in Santa 
Barbara and San Francisco. 

L'affairs du coeurs seem always to 
follow in the path of the handsome son, 
Rahim, and rumors of his escapades have 
drifted back from Oxford, so it is quite 
as it should be, that in the South romance 
appeared at the door of the studio in the 
form of Virginia Harmon, coolly Eng- 
lish in its blondest type. In a day appeared 
a solitaire and in a week a marriage li- 
cense. Before her lies a vista of fascinat- 
ing life in the Persian Court and Em- 
bassies of Europe. 

Santa Barbara Letter 

■X/TONTECITO is the meeting point 
■*- -^ of coast society, a melting pot for 
southern and northern California elite. 
Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Joyce of New 
"^'ork and Burlingame visit Mr. and Mrs. 
Carl V. Armstrong of Pasadena while 
next door along the beach Mr. and Mrs. 
Alfred Hendrickson sojourn with Mr. 
and Mrs. Lawrence W. Fox, Jr. In a 
house upon the hills Mr. and Mrs. Coy 

(Cuntinued to Page 3;) 

The San Franciscan 


As Seen By Her 

SOMETHING comparatively new 
has been designed to delight the heart 
of the lady who inclines towards 
obesity, craves a streamline figure, and 
has a sweet tooth. Kratz, the artist in 
sweets, has devised an absolutely non- 
fattening chocolate. Yes, ladies, it can 
and It has been done — scientifically at 

This delectable confection, called, en- 
ticingly, "fruit of the orient," has no 
sweetening except natural fruit sugar, 
and the chocolate around the filling is 
so thin that the calories have room to 
jump around in it without once bumping 
into each other. 

Just by way of comment, Mr. Kratz 
himself received this magic recipe from 
his father, who received it from his fa- 
ther, and so on, almost back to Adam. 
It's a sort of seventh son of a seventh son 
affair. Let us pray that Mr. Kratz has 
a long line of ambitious male candy 
kids, so that in these days of the lean and 
hungry look we may still continue to 
satisfy our craving for sweets. 

A LTHOUGH we ha\'e a book, we 
■'■ ^ lingered for but a moment in Paul 
Elder's shop the other day. We were 
fascinated by the window display, which 
consisted largely of pile upon pile of 
Harold Bell Wright's new book, God 
and the Grocery man. We wondered 
whether that represented Mr. Elder's 
taste, the desire of the reading public, 
or a craving for higher literature. At 
any rate, we were reminded of the ad- 
vantage of the use of a full and musical 
name by the author. Who would pay 
any attention at all to books written by 
so undistinguished-sounding a person as 
H. B. Wright? 

In spite of the homelike atmosphere 
provided by a purring cat of the species 
alley, and many elaborate cathedral doors 
and windows, we found no reason for 
one of the salesgirls to justify the moral 
attitude of the characters in a certain 
book which she was endeavoring to sell. 
It's all right, in our judgment, to sell 
books, but it is not necessary to apologize 
for them. 

Apparently bookstores are getting to 
be like drug stores — anything can be pro- 
cured there. We found pottery, book- 
ends, greeting cards, etchings and prints, 

quill pens, and playing cards scattered 
hither and yon in the establishment of 
Herr Elder. 


TNTRIGUED by the heavy netting 
screening the windows of M.aison 
Mendessolle, we inquired the reason 
for the same, only to discover that we 
have there a real bit of Paris. In the Rue 
de la Paix, exclusive windows are treated 
just that way, and our one really French 
shop aims to be Parisian in every respect. 
While we were there, we saw the 
most entrancing blue leather raincoat, 
equipped with the trickiest pockets closed 
by means of the popular zipper device. 
The whole thing was lined in a heavy 
crepe of the same color. This coat may 
also be had in dark red, and would be 
ideal for any kind of inclement weather, 
should we have any. 

We also found a charming specialite 
de la maisnn — delightfully prepared per- 
fume, toilet water, soap, and powder, 
manufactured in Paris directly for Mai- 
son Mendessolle, and sold nowhere else. 
If miladv fancies something exclusive, 
she can use no better than these prepera- 

-*-> — i^ 

•T^HERE are no more attractive florists' 
-*- windows in town than those of the 
Wood Flower Shop on Post Street. 
The whole effect is that of an Italian 
garden against a background of formal 
cypresses, and a charmingly painted 
scene. The floor is of black tile, and there 
are exotically colored birds at libert)' in 
the window, including a pair of imper- 
tinent baby parrots and a flashing red 

The interior of the shop is arched, and 
tinted in a warm henna shade, giving 
the effect of a vista through a covered 
pergola. The flowers are not displayed 
en masse, but tastefully arranged along 
the walls and on occasional stands. One 
has the feeling of entering the loggia of 
a tastefully run, luxurious villa, rather 
than that of a shop. 

A LTHOUGH this is not Christmas 
•^ •*■ time, and although many of the in- 
telligentsia deny the existence of a Santa 
Claus, the occasions upon which one 
wants to send an attractive and unusual 
gift do arise even in these somewhat 

torpid summer days. Almost every taste 
and purse can be satisfied at Harold 
Wallace's interior decorating shop. 
There are colorful Spanish and Italian 
plates richly glowing pieces of brocade, 
ingeniously devised cigarette - boxes in 
both leather and pottery, charming stools, 
and small occasional tables. The shop it- 
self is well worth a trip of inspection, 
because its arrangement is so artistic and 
so free from the effeminacy usually as- 
sociated with such places that it is a real 

\V7' E (the typewriter and I), spent a 
''' week-end down the peninsula not 
long ago, and while there visited a few 
places that we would like to urge all of 
our readers to see. 

There was Noah's Ark in San Mateo, 
cooking as a specialty, baked ham — and 
how! Of course, almost anything else 
is obtainable, too, but we liked the ham 
and Noaii's flashing smil'j as he carved it. 
If the original ark had a quartermaster 
department like that, we see no reason 
tor the passengers ever wanting to dis- 

There are two charming tea shops in 
San Mateo and Burlingame respectively, 
the Oak Tree Inn and the Studio 
Inn. Both are to be highly recommended 
for either lunch, tea, or dinner, and it 
has come to our ea\'esdropping ears that 
many of the smart peninsulans are giv- 
ing parties, announcing engagements and 
what not, at these attract! \e establish- 

Just to prove that we did other things 
besides eat during the week-end, we wish 
to mention a brand new bookshop in Palo 
Alto, The Alcove. Besides books and 
atmosphere, a circulating library, exhi- 
bitions of etching and prints will be 
available there. 

"DUT We are appalled at the prevalance 
and growing number of little, self- 
styled "exclusive" shops, usually called 
Maisons These and Those, or Peggy 
May, or What Have You, brazenly 
showing high-waisted taffeta dresses, ag- 
gressively pink hats, and not very near 
leather handbags. It's fine to sell those 
things, but a French name on a shop 
front is too thin and too o'^vious a dis- 
guise for mail oi dri gcnds 

Photograph by Imogene Cunninghaii: 

San Francisco Predicts an Art 

in this decorative arrangement The present search for 

A new art source is sensed 
by Rudolph Schaeffcr, the San Francisco artist, who cham 
pions the growing attraction between esthetics and science. 
In his analysis of the modern uses of ry thm and color he places 
California as foremost in rivalry of European art centers. 

movement" in art forms is well 
realized in the background of this motif, where the "Radia- 
tion of Planes" is in a sequence of blues and greens, cool as 
foliage. Througli its "abstraction" poetic completion is given 
to the "Still-life" of the porcelain pigeon. 

The San Franciscan 

The Season's Opera 

An Unusually Unhardy Plant Is Fostered to Luxuriant Bloom 

B\ Uffington Valentine 

THE receptiveness of California's soil 
is far famed. Seed falling whether 
flower or ideal finds an extraordi- 
nary support. One could hardly name a 
world spot where there is less of that 
stoniness mentioned in the scriptural par- 
able. It is a region that rejoices in a su- 
perior capacit)', to draw to herself and 
translate into terms of her own, all that 
makes up the diverse beauties of life. 

The latest of her experimentations has 
been grand opera, not as an exotic offer- 
ing to our aesthetic need but as an im- 
planted native thing. San Francisco and 
Los Angeles, California's two main cen- 
ters of culture, undertook, a few year; 
ago, to add this usually unhardy plant to 
other near related flora that have found 
these cities so fostering to luxuriant 
bloom. Grand opera's reputation for hot- 
house fragility, the fact that in many oth- 
er like sized cities of the country, blight 
attended its attempted rootings, did not 
discourage the promoters here. They met 
the difficult practical problems that 
grand opera involves with a characteris- 
tic California spirit, and the result of 
that confidence, so contagious in its in- 
fluence, is that after five years we have 
in our midst, as Los Angeles in hers, a 
self-maintained opera organization com- 
parable, if not in seasonal span of ac- 
tivity, at all e\ents, in artistic wortii with 
those of Chicago and New York. 

A S heretofor the season this year is 
brief, covering only a fortnight. 
But in that alone can our local Associa- 
tion be called static. It has not extended 
its season but it has advanced its stan- 
dards. In artist roster and reportoire of 
pieces the superiorit)' to prior years is 
well shown. It is an eminent arrav of 
singers that has been assembled, prac- 
tically all being the pick of the Metro- 
politan staff, and in the longer list of 
operas one has an admirable balance of 
novelty, revival and so-called standard 

The sopranos as first announced are 
Elsa Alsen, Lucrezia Bori, Anne Ro- 
selle, Francesca Peralta, Myrtle Claire 
Donnelly and Katharine Meisle, a 
change in the case of Bori may perhaps 

have to be made owing to a present ill- 
ness. The mezzos and contraltos com- 
prise Ina Bourskaya, Elinor Mario and 
Kathryn Meisle; the tenors, Angelo 
Bada, Chamlee, Martinelli, Rudolf 
Laubenthal, Oliviero and Tokatyan; 
and the baritones and bassos, Pasquale 
Amato, D'Angelo, Pinza, Scotti, De- 
frere, Tibbett, Millo Picco and Austin 
\V. Sperry; making in all a cast of 
twenty-three singers. 

Elsa Alsen, a guest artist of the Chi- 
cago Civic Opera Company, made her 
debut in Germany, where she is now 
held to be the leading soprano interpreter 
of Wagnerian roles, and particularly ex- 
cels as Isolde. Anne Roselle, who, like 
Alsen, is new to San Francisco audiences, 
is Hungarian born and has during the 
last two years greatly added to her Euro- 
pean triumphs by her rendering of the 
Princess part in Puccini's posthumous 
Tiinnidot. Peralta, whose private name 
is Miss Phyllis Partington, is a native 
Californian and has had much success 
with the Metropolitan in the roles she 
will sing here this season. 

The Russian mezzo - soprano, Ina 
Bourskaya, is already favorably known 
to San Franciscans through her vivid por- 
trayal of Carmen during the open air 
production of Bizet's opera at Palo Alto 
fi\e years ago. Elinor Mario is another 
of San Francisco's widely known singers 
and has recently become a member of 
the Chicago Civic Opera Company; 
while Kathiyn Meisle, who appeared last 
year with the San Francisco Opera Com- 
pany, will be heartily remembered for 
her dramatic personation of Azucena in 
// Trovatore. 

/^F the tenors Rudolph Laubenthal is 
^-^ the only one who will make his 
first appearance in San Francisco and 
enjoys in this country and abroad the 
highest reputation for Wagnerian inter- 
pretations. Like Alsen he has been this 
year a guest artist in this country where 
his Tristan has been generally lauded. 
Most of the baritones are already favor- 
ites with us, and among the others to 
make their local debut is Lawrence Tib- 
bett, the Los Angeles singer, who cre- 

ated so marked a sensation as Ford in 
Verdi's Fnlstaff. 

The thirteen operas to be heard cover 
the composition of Italian, German and 
French genius either past or living. 
Those who have a particular fondness 
for the melodic side of opera will find 
it in the works of Verdi figuring in the 
reportoire. These include his always wel- 
come Alda and // Trovatore, with his 
last and most modern-mooded Falstaff. 
For Wagnerians there will be Tristan 
tind Isolde rendered here for the first 
time, in German, and another novelty in 
the spectacular opera of Turandot left 
unfinished by Puccini and completed, ac- 
cording to his directions, by his brother 
composer, Franco Alfano, and so far 
heard in this country only through the 
Metropolitan Opera Country, that, last 
winter, presented it a number of times 
to delighted and crowded houses of New 
York. The other Puccini pieces of the 
reportoire will be Mohoh Lescaiit, to be 
presented on the opening night of the 
season, La Tosea and La Boheme. 

r^ lORDANO'S La Ccna delle Beffe 
^"^ (The Jester's Supper) is also in- 
cluded among the novelties and as happy 
appeal is strengthened by the colorful epi- 
a choice in new school productions. Its 
sode of Italian renaissance life it so dra- 
matically interprets. / Pagliacci and 
Cavalleria Rustlcana round out the di- 
verse offerings of the season that cap 
their completeness in variety with Gou- 
nod's Romeo et Juliette, the universal 
favorite of aria lovers, and that white 
flame of Bizet's inspiration. Carmen, 
which age cannot wither nor custom stale 
for any ear. 

Theodore Kosloff the popular Russian 
dancer and head of the Kosloff Dancing 
Studio of San Francisco and Los An- 
geles, will again have personal charge of 
the ballet features of the season, present- 
ing Madame Fredowa as premiere dan- 
seuse, supported by sixteen selected mem- 
bers of the San Francisco branch of the 
Kosloff studio. Half of these, together 
with IVedowa herself, appeared last year 
in Faust, Aida and Samson et Delilah. 

The San Franciscan 

Highlights of The Opera Season 

Lawrence Tirrett, baritone, and a Cali- 
fornian, whose meteoric career as a grand 
opera star began with his portrayal of Ford 
in Verdi's "Falstaff" with the "Met." 
We are, indeed, fortunate in having the 
opportunity of hearing him in the role. 

Mario, tenor, is already a prime 
favorite with our audiences and has again 
come from the Metropolitan Opera House 
to portrav such important roles as Mario 
in Puccini's "La Tosca," Romeo in Gou- 
nod's "Romeo et Juliette" and Rodolfo 
in Puccini's "La Boheme." 

Ina Bourskaya, mezzo-soprano, whose por- 
trayal oi Bizet's "Carmen" is said to be one 
of the greatest. Incidentally, Mme. Bour- 
skaya's American debut took place in San 
Francisco with the Russian Opera Com- 
pany several years ago; since that time, she 
has been one of the Metropolitan's lead- 
ing sopranos. 

Ei.SA Alsen, soprano, a guest artist of the 
Chicago Civic Opera Company, will be 
heard here for the first time as the Wag- 
nerian heroine Isolda of 'Tristan und 
Isolde," the San Francisco Opera Asso- 
ciation's first production of German 
Opera, with Alfred Hertz wielding the 



Anne Roski.i.e, soprano, is new to San Fran- 
cisco audiences, and will be heard as Prin- 
cess Turandot in Puccini's posthumous 
opera "Turandot." Anne Roselle has won 
wide acclaim for her interpretation of the 
part while with the Dresden Opera House 
and the Berlin Staatsoper. 

The San Franciscan 

Dido and Aeneas 

of the Two That Loved— or Did Not Love 

By Antonia Pia 

SHE was Queen and could give men 
glory or death. With her little brown 
hands she had buildcd an Empire and 
behind her low broad brow was the men- 
tality of a conqueror. Dido was Queen, 
Dido was powerful but Dido was forty. 
She controlled armies, fleets, fortresses, 
wealth, but she could not control her lust. 
Dido was in love. 

It was summer on the African shores. 
A breeze scented with distance cooled the 
faces of the Queen and her attendants. 
The blackness of her Nubians glittered 
in the last light of a summer day. The 
.setting sun was Christian. It shone benev- 
olently on everyone, slave, handmaiden, 
the gardener digging about the palms, 
ever)'one, fugitive, criminal, philosopher 
and Queen. The setting sun was demo- 
cratic. Saint, sinner and queen, each par- 
took of its glory, felt its soft warmth 
on his cheek and enjoyed a lazy, melan- 
choly moment. The world was young, 
the breeze was a youth, and the sun did 
not see mold, somehow. On the Queen's 
balcony flowers were scattered in a basket, 
vermilion flowers, brought from the 
mountains, untamed and indelicate, 
earthly, vigorous, and the perfume of 
them was primitive and passionate. 
Dido's two bronzed feet gripped their 
intricate sandals in anguish. The breeze 
was telling her in honeyed words a very 
bitter story. The sea was whispering un- 
happy things, and in the coolness of the 
breeze, there was treachery. The vermil- 
ion flowers were cruelly red, stubbornly 
young and untroubled. The handmaidens 
with exquisite stuffs about their slender 
thighs, the violent designs of the mosaic 
floor, her own golden skin, her little 
brown feet, all was beautiful. She scru- 
tinized the flesh of her upper arm. She 
was afraid she was not beautiful, her 
skin too dark, her years too many. Dido 
was a courageous Queen but she was 
forty and in love. She was afraid. 

The petals of the flowers stirred in the 
breeze, the balcony was riotous with col- 
or in the brilliance of an African sunset; 
within, a lute-player chanted a lonely 
far-off song. Aeneas, all gold and white 
appeared, dragging his heels across the 
fancy floor. As he aproached the Queen 

he wished that they were friends rather 
than lo\ers so that he might be honest 
with her. He sat at her feet, lazily, cov- 
ering one of them with a strong Trojan 
hand. His yellow hair seemed to Dido 
brighter than the sun. 

The Queen wished to say something. 
She pointed to the horizon, then waved 
her arm about her. "Nice." She was 
sorry she said it. The remark sounded 
like a merchant peddling his wares. 
"What have you been doing all the day ? " 
she questioned, assuming an air of indif- 
ference. He did not hear her. She looked 
down at him and saw that his eyes were 
fastened on the figure of one of her girl 
attendants. "Ravishing, isn't she?" 

"I have heard of a country called 
Latium. The King has a daughter, La- 
\inia. Men say she is like an almond 
blossom." Aeneas dreamed. 

"Ach ! " Dido wriggled. "What have 
y<ni been doing all the day.?" No answer. 
"You ha\'e been with your ships? " 


"Your eyes look seaward." A pause. 
"Your followers are strangely busy." 


"You are going away?" 

"I must. I shall grow fat and com- 
fortable here." 

"Is comfort contemptible. People la- 
bor for comfort, then, when they acquire 
it, they seem ashamed." 

"I must accomplish something," 
Aeneas said. 

"I shall miss you." She rolled her eyes 
then after a moment continued. "Shall 
we sup here on the balcony? It is sum- 
mer. Odd, how difficult men make things 
when it is summer and the world is 
warm. We have everything made easy. 
We are not satisfied. We must have 
things diflBcult." She nodded to her slaves 
to arrange the repast. 

Aeneas sat dumbh', his eyes fixed in 

"Carthage is not dull. Still your eyes 
look to Latium and," she hesitated, 

"Like an almond blossom." Aeneas 
shook himself, rose and sat beside her. 
"It it not that. I must do somethinu;. I 
must build an empire." 

A lock of his yellow hair fell over his 
face. Dido looked at it. Her eyes were 
a flame. "It is an infirmit}'," she said, 
"to love so much." 

"The name of a disease is not its 

"-■\s for my beauty, I have seen — " 
he went on. 

"It is not only your beauty. It is also 
your little uglinesses. The scar on your 
breast, the glint of brown in one blue 
eye. Yes. It it the special glint that I had 
never imagined that has come to be the 
symbol of all masculine pulchritude. 

"Men are polygamous. Women's 
should learn that," he said brutally. 

"Men are simultaneous. They have 
bigger hearts than women. There is 
room in a man's heart for a dozen wom- 
en, all at the same time. Yes they have 
bigger hearts than women," she sighed. 

"Girls should be taught that men's 
passions are likesummerrain. Onecannot 
always eat dates, or figs, or olives, one 
tires. I must build an empire to make up 
for Troy. I must be great for the name 
of my ancestors." 

"How unsophisticated you Trojans 
are. I like it. It is refreshing. I'm tired 
of philosophers who prove that nothing 
matters, and if you find in your ashy 
ancestors an ideal, I like it. It is refresh- 

The sun had set and the darkness on 
the balcony was splotched here and there 
with the faint light from the tapers. 
Dido experienced a sense of defeat. "I 
am sad, tonight," she said. "Let us 

Aeneas was bored. "Sadness is unbe- 
coming in a woman." 

"And ambition is vulgar in a man. 
You must have sprung from the common 
people," Dido retorted. Slie lifted her 
goblet. "Let us drink," she said gaily. 
"If one is sad because joy is fleeting, one 
should rejoice because sadness also passes. 
Let us drink. To Lavinia!" 

Aeneas sulked like an overgrown adol- 
escent and Dido, at fort}', made antics 
about the boy. The balcony was redolent 
of perfume and laden with flowers, the 
handmaidens were beautful and swift, it 
(Continued to Page 3(t) 

The San Franciscan 

The Bookstall 

The Season's Offerings in Review 

By William Ahlefeld Flanagan 

GEORGE Dorsey's newest work, 
The Evolution of Charles Dar- 
win, has already stirred up some 
controversy, not only among the religious 
fundamentalists but also 
among the scientists. For the 
Darwin which Mr. Dorsey 
has painted is not the one 
which the fundamentalists 
had learned of and despised. 
It is a memorable portrait of 
a kindly man who adored his 
family and loved his neigh- 
bors. And just as this per- 
plexes the religious bigots, so 
the scientific bigots are cha- 
grined when Dorsey insinu- 
ates that circumstance and 
environment made it possible 
for Darwin to be what he 
was, and not any inheritance 
of a scientific brain. The 
consternation of the funda- 
mentalists at finding Darwin 
portrayed as such a splendid 
moral example, illustrates the 
point that our opinions of 
great men and women are 
too often founded on a mere 
association of appearance and 
tradition, without any actual 
knowledge of circumstances. 
Our ideas of Jesus, Napol- 
eon, Lincoln, and even mod- 
ern notables, are based large- 
ly upon pictures of them and 
the rumors that circulate 
about them. We disregard 
the facts of honest research 
about them unless the facts 
suit the tradition that has al- 
ready been built up concerning them. 
What will this mean when the ever 
evolving civilization reaches a point of 
radical departure from what it has been 
in the past? Our pictures of Jesus, Lin- 
coln, Darwin, and others, will not be 
quite the same tomorrow as they have 
been in the past. One New York review- 
er, whose wool is rubbed the wrong way 
by Dorsey's application of a Behaviorist 
theory, writes that Dorsey credits Dar- 
win's scientific greatness to his mother. 

This is false criticism, for Mr. Dorsey 
says nothing of the sort. He only points 
out that the thing which so greatly inter- 
must read this book to get the details 

by Aiiiold Uti^a.t, N. V 


'ZtlJa Marsh" is the name of the distinguished San Francisco 

author's new novel. 

cause of that happy circumstance. You 
with which Dorsey builds up his logical 
theory of Darwin's own evolution, and 
the manner in- which he restored human 
destiny to human hands. The book not 
only gives the behaviorism of Darwin, 
but in doing so it points out the vast im- 
portance of that element in the life of 
ested her, happened to be the same thing 
which interested him, and Darwin found 
encouragement instead of opposition be- 

man. And in being the first reliable at- 
tempt to represent Darwin in this light, 
it is bound to be of importance whatever 
the genuine opposition may be. 

The Evolution of Charles 
Dariuin, by George Dor- 
sey; Doublcday, Page & 
Co., price $2.00. 

« -;■«• 

npHE latest offering by 
-•■ Jeddu Krishnamurti is 
The Kingdom of Happiness. 
Prophet Jeddu hails from the 
center of Theosophy in In- 
dia, and it is claimed for him 
that he is gaining thousands 
of followers over the earth. 
This alone should make us 
suspicious. The venders of 
fake medicines also gained 
thousands of followers over 
all the earth, and so have the 
leaders of most of the quack 
cults that ever existed. Krish- 
namurti advises us to be very 
serious and very joyous (a 
combination next to impossi- 
ble), and says that anyone is 
in the Kingdom of Happi- 
ness who has purity of 
thought and emoton. This 
would include most of the 
imbiciles, p )llyannas a n d 
cult followers, and would be 
a kingdom that few intelli- 
gent folks would want if 
they could have it. At one 
place Jeddu says he got out- 
side his own body and then 
walked around and contem- 
plated it. With a good Amer- 
ican manager, this fellow could al- 
ready be getting rich by giving round 
trip rides to the spiritual world. His book 
is ( possibly) worth reading for its mystic 
and delicate beauty; just as it is(possibly) 
worth while to stand and view an exqui- 
site .spider-web glistening in the weird 
light of the moon. But like the fragile 
spider-web, all but the softest opposition 
would shatter its foundation from ex- 

(Continued on Page z8) 

The San Franciscan 


The Powers That Direct the Destiny of San Francisco 
Robert Dollar 

tcT'M not a Captain. Everybody just 

I calls me that, I suppose, because I 
run ships — " Robert Dollar said 
to me. 

From the million - dollar "Dollar 
Building," 311 California Street, Cap- 
tain Dollar strided forth briskly. I had 
to double up my speed to keep pace with 
this patriarch whose youth is perennial. 

Soon, I had to key up my appetite als ) 
to catch up with his; he was taking m? 
out to lunch. Where we went was neither 
a showy place, nor a rummy waterfront 
coffee house. It is a neat, efficient lunch 
to catch with his; he was taking me out 
room, simple, almost Spartan, in fur- 
nishings. A logical place for Mr. Dollar 
to eat in. When the girl waiters saw him 
coming, they recognized him instantly, 
but showed no special flurry. In a good 
humored and perfectly friendly manner, 
a girl came to the brown mahogany table 
where the Captain and I had seated our- 

Sandwiches, pies and coffee: we gave 
the orders. Captain Dollar ate with more 
gusto and relish than I did. His keen blue 
points of the eyes, under the white fringe 
of brows, lit up with merriment, as 
he remarked, "I expect you as a younger 
man to do your duty at the meal." But 
I conceded superiority to him, even in 
the consuming of a hearty lunch — he is 
an everlasting youth, Robert Dollar is. 

This morning, I caught him at the 
office, just as he was dashing out for 
the lunch. He had in his pocket a sheaf 
of letters and cablegrams. He showed me 
two of these. One was a letter from a 
certain personage in Washington, D. C, 
the seal on the top read "The White 
House"; the neat signature was "Calvin 

The other communication was, I be- 
lieve, from the former or present Presi- 
dent of China. It was teeming with the 
most confidential gossip about the Chi- 
nese situation. And, I need not say that 
President Coolidge's letter also related 
to the Chinese affairs. 

"More coffee, Mr. Dollar.?" the wait- 
ress asked. 

By GoBiND Behari Lal 

"Another piece of pie, Mr. Dollar?" 
she repeated. 

Did she know that we were settling 
world problems at this small lunch 

"I believe, as I've often said before," 
Captain Dollar was saying to me, "that 
this is the age of the Pacific. The Paci- 
fic Coast is soins: to be the busiest trade 
center of the world. And, San Francisco 
ought to become the greatest port in the 
United States. As our commerce and 
other kind of intercourse with the Far 
East develops, this city will rise in im- 
portance — " 

Was it the voice of "a native son," 
ardently dreaming of San Francisco's 
greater future on account of the ties of 
nativity? Yes, and no: Mr. Dollar is one 
of the oldest citizens of San Francisco. 
But he is a Scotchman by birth. He was 
born in a small seaside town in Scotland. 
I had to drink some more coffee, before 
the imagination expanded enough to 
comprehend the geographic dimensions 
over which Mr. Dollar lives and oper- 
ates. Scotland-to-London : from London 
to New York-San Francisco: from San 
Francisco to China — and beyond! 
— Patriarch of a Merchant Prince and 
Trade Ambassador. An epic figure, I 

A/fR. Dollar is not at all afraid of be- 
ing called "a capitalist." Nor does 
he think it anything to worry about, that 
a certain great diplomacy is named after 
him — the dollar diplomacy, espoused by 
Uncle Sam. 

Is there something too candid about 
the "$" sign? Is it a mark of frank ma- 
terialism? Perhaps. The question, how- 
ever, never troubles Captain Robert Dol- 
lar. To him the attitude is expressive of 
a distinct kind of truthfulness, of hon- 
esty, of a non-Machiavallianism. In a 
world full of greedy diplomats, conceal- 
ing their signs under high-faluting talk 
of "saving the world" and "uplifting 
the backward peoples" and "carrying the 
white man's burden" — it is refreshing to 

face a man of realities, like Mr. Dollar. 
It is the petty and half-hearted trader, 
engaged in foreign trade, say in China, 
who creates all sorts of frictiiin with the 
foreign peoples to whom he wants to 
sell his wares at a sizely profit. He doesn't 
treat the prospective foreign buyers in a 
sincere manner. And so he fails, and 
then turns around and abuses his custom- 
ers and his government at home, for lack 
of firm support and what not. That is 
not the Dollar way. Captain Dollar en- 
joys the friendship of the Chinese as 
scarcely another white man in the world 


■>;■ — '^ 

"NTO soft life was his, in the beginning. 

^ You must know that Robert Dollar 
is a most abstemious man, in regard to 
alcohol, for instance. He has been a tem- 
perance man since childhood. Perhaps, 
there was the male head of the Dollar 
family, in Falkirk, Scotland, who was 
altogether too intimate with the cup. 
That brought much tragedy in the home, 
and Robert Dollar's mother pointed out 
the moral of the situation. At any rate, 
the lesson was never forgotten by Robert. 
In those hardworking childhood days, 
another trouble was incorporated in the 
person of the Presbyterian - hearted 
schoolmaster who administered occasion- 
al caning upon young Dollar's tender 
back, on general principles, following 
the scriptural saying, "Spare the rod and 
spoil the child." Hard luck! 

Still under 12, Robert Dollar went 
to work for his living. He worked in a 
carpenter shop, and a sort of lumber 
mill. All those seaside and lumber mill 
experiences of early boyhood must have 
left a mark upon his spirit, and deter- 
mined his future career in strange ways. 

At the time of this writing, Robert 
Dollar is 83 years of age; so, it was 
nearly seventy years ago when he emi- 
grated to Canada, to find a more hos- 
pitable land. He had heard of the great 
opportunities that Canada and the United 
States afforded ambitious youngsters. 

Perhaps in a few months after land- 
ing on Canadian soil, young Dollar then 

(Continued to Page 31) 

The San Franciscan 


Robert Dollar 

The San Franciscan 


Answers To Questionnaire on Page 16 

1. Edward Robson Taylor. 1 908- 1 909. 

2. William Keith. 

3. Story in "The Inner Circle" set in 
"Tour Eiffel," by Frank Norris. 

4. "The First Born" by Powers, in the 
late nineties. 

5. The Shot Tower on Howard Street. 

6. A Montgomery Street saloon-bum 
who made a living by letting cus- 
tomers kick him in the seat of the 
pants as hard as they could for ten 

7. Rio Janeiro. 

8. Gelett Burgess, Porter Garnett, Ed- 
gar Peixotto, Yone Noguchi, Bruce 
Porter and others who published 
"The Lark" in 1896. 

9. Steve Sanguinetti's. 

10. Henry Savage's "Madam Butterfly." 

1 1 . Isadora Duncan and Maud Allen. 

12. The Kirmess at the Valencia The- 

13. South Park. 

14. Marchand's. 

15. Ned Greenway 

16. New Orleans Fizz and Baked Ham 








on a biscuit. 

Ex-President William Howard 27. 

Taft. 28. 

David Belasco and William Brady. 29. 
The Towne Home on California St. 2,0. 
Camilla Urso gave a promenade con- 3 '• 
cert in the old Mechanics' Pavilion. 32. 
She played the Anvil Chorus, and to 33. 
tlie beating of the anvils, canntms 34. 
were fired on the Presidio Hill. Dur- 35. 
ing the loading of a cannon, it dis- 
charged, sending the ramrod through 36. 
the body of the attendant. 37. 

Negress Housekeeper of the Million- 
aire Bell, who owned the "Haunted 38. 
House" on Gough Street near Sutter. 39. 
The Bank Exchange famous for 40. 
Pisco Punches. 41. 

He disappeared in Mexico and all 42. 
trace of him was lost. 
Little Egypt. 

"There'll Be a Hot Time in the Old 43. 
Town Tonight." 

Bohemian violinist, conductor of or- 
chestra at Techau Tavern. He mar- 
ried an ex-French Princess and lived 

a sensational life. 

Sadakichi Hartmann. 
Mabel Gilman Corey. 
Sybil Sanderson. 
Elsa Maxwell. 
John McMullen. 
Telegraph Hill, on Alta Street. 
Puccini's "La Boheme" in 1898, and 
Leoncavallo's "Zaza" in 1903. 
Dr. Horace Fletcher. 
Luisa Tetrazzini, Christmas Eve, 
19 10, at Lotta's Fountain. 
Gelette Burgess. 
Clarence Urmy| 
Lotta Crabtree. 
(Fame.) He died a pauper. 
First publislier of the Bulletin. Mur- 
dered, and avenged by the Vigil- 

As the Prince of Wales was unable 
to recall the occasion we are com- 
pelled in the interests of accuracy to 
withhold the name of the gentleman. 
. . . Sorry. 

The Kingdom of Happiness, by Jeddu 
Krishnamurti ; Boni & Liveright, 
price $1.50. 

SINCE the publication of Ring Lard- 
ner's The Story of a Wonier Man, 
the inhabitants of the West Coast have 
had something to laugh at besides their 
newspapers. But there is something odd 
that rings in the laughter over this book. 
Of course it is nonsense, but then — ? 
Is Ring makins; an ass of himself or of 
the reader? Neither of these courses are 
expected in Autobiographies. The reader 
picks up tlie book expecting to learn all 
about Lardner, and finds out everything 
and nothing at the same time. He is puz- 
zled to see how a man can write so much 
about himself and yet give away nothing. 
But here is where the new and true style 
of biography is given to us for the first 
time. The most intimate side of a person 
is the side which the biographers never 
touch. They all record the details of 
things done, but who before Lardner has 
recorded the things he refrained from 
doing? the secret paths down which he 

The Bookstall 

(Continued from P-Tge 25) 

Stole to look but never dared to venture; 
the little ways in which he liked to live 
and never could? When Lardner has the 
Yale football coach bawl out the star for 
appearing on the field for dirty finger- 
nails, is he ridiculing his wife for nag- 
ging him to keep his own nails clean? 
and if so, does he not then divulge the 
little intimate secret that he loves to sit 
around the house dirty? You see, whether 
you take his wife's side or his own, he 
has got one on you. And he tells the most 
hellish things on himself, in that funny 
way that makes you forget to think what 
you're reading. 

•^5 — ;<- 

The Stury of a Wotider Man, by Ring 
Lardner; Charles Scribner's Sons, 
price $1.75. 

-H- -;^ 

/^NE of the unfortunate conditions 
^-^ which exists within the field of 
mystery is that its most highly developed 
form is the least popular. I mean the 
ghost story. Stories of this type offer the 
widest range to the writer's imagination, 
and some of the greatest tales in any lan- 

guage are its ghost stories. The most re- 
cent selection of these, The Ghost Book, 
compiled by Cynthia Asquith, is rather 
disappointing. A collection of short 
stories, when by different authors, is 
presumed to ha\'e an especial value; this 
is doubly true with a specialized selection, 
such as Adventure Tales, Humorous 
Tales, Ghost Stories, etc. They should 
be outstanding in the field to which they 
belong, for otherwise there is small ex- 
cuse for a collection by separate authors. 
Two or three of these stories, notably 
one by Oliver Onions, are worthy, but 
on the whole the selection is quite ordi- 
nary, falling far short of the selections 
by French and Scarborough. 

' I 'HOSE who like detective stories will 
•*■ find a well written yarn in The 
House of Sin, by Allen Upward. The 
story is in no way e.xceptional, but is one 
of the few of its kind told with intellec- 
tual honesty. The characters do just as 
intelligent humans would do under the 
strange circumstances. There are no 
super-human men and no miracles. 

The San Franciscan 


All the News That's Fit to Print 

(Cuiitimied Iroin Page 9) 

Street are just as amusing and even more 

'T"'HE necessity for concision and em- 
phasis in the writing of headlines has 
given birth to a new and astounding 
simplicity of expression. Just as the ty- 
ranny of a set rhyme scheme often forces 
the poet into his greatest lines, so the ne- 
cessity of squeezing the most news into 
the fewest words exacts a precision and 
expressiveness of language absolutely 
peculiar to the American newspaper. An 
English Poet Laureate visiting America 
for the first time refused to grant an 
importunate reporter an interview. The 
following day appeared the headline: 
C H I R P." 

Perhaps the greatest secret of the press 
to hold us lies in its sheer quantity. It is 
not one headline but many, not one di- 
vorce, murder, revolution or comic strip 
but thousands of them repeated day after 
day which finally comes to upset all our 
ideas of truth and beauty. Certain belated 
aesthetes have tried to discover who are 
the great American novelists and play- 
wrights. What futility! 

The fatal mistake a newspaper can 
make is to try to maintain a certain good 
taste and intelligent observation. Look 
what such a policy has done for the New 
York Times, the Herald-Tribune and 
the Philadelphia Ledger. One might as 
well read the New Republic. The best 
American papers are the New York tab- 
loids. The Graphic is particularly good 
for significant detail. Peaches' honking 
gander, Mrs. Coolidge's collie dog and 
the Spirit of St. Louis have occupied col- 
umns which Jack Dempsey and the 
Countess Cathcart must have envied. 
The Mirror is equally good for gran- 
diose generalities as when one day two 
imaginative sketches of Mrs. Snyder and 
Mr. Gray each dead in his own electric 
chair maintained a decorative balance on 
the front sheet worthy of Michelangelo's 
prophets in the Sistine Chapel. 

TRAILING a tabloid any Hearst paper 
is always a good buy. The mere scope 
of the Hearst press is enough to recom- 
mend it. From Sandy Hook to the Seal 
Rocks this august institution casts its long 
shadow, and the influence it exerts makes 
the Catholic Church of the Middle Ages 
look like our local Chamber of Com- 

merce. So far perhaps its influence has 
been relati\'ely superficial. One can hard- 
ly say that advice to the lovelorn, cross- 
word puzzles, Annie Laurie, Houdini's 
Magic Section, and Bringing Up Father 
have wrought any transcendental changes 
on humanit}'. But cannot one visualize 
the use future Agamemnons will make 
of such an organ to spread the news of 
fallen Troys? Think of the unborn 
Savonarolas who will preach their doc- 
trines in syndicated columns called "The 
Psycho-elliptical God of One Hundred 
Percent Uplift." 

It has become the custom to laugh at 
the Hearst press and call it naughty 
names. Nobody understands the value of 
laughter and abuse better than the Hearst 
press itself — nobody since Voltaire and 

'T~'HIS great newspaper does not con- 
tribute to the great American drama 
I visualised. It plays in a theatre of its 
own and is a gorgeous minstrel show, 
whose interlocutor is William Randolph 
Hearst and whose end man is Arthur 





Sent on Request 
No Obligation 


Investment fiJ) i^f\ 
Securities |^ \JU 



San frantitto 


Anderson & Fox 

announce the opening of 

nevL ofnces 



San Francisco 

'«T t 7aT»T»Va T<T a T<T fl T A T aWa¥ATaV*TAT;,TA»A>/,»»»A»«»«»A»«».»>W.W.W»WiTiTiiWi»»i» 

The San Franciscan 

Dido and Aeneas 

(Continued from Page 24) 

was summer, it was warm, but the Queen 
and her lover were unhappy for both of 
them suffered a hunger, one of the body 
and one of the brain. The warmth, the 
night and the wine nursed their inglori- 
ous misery. 

In the dimness. Dido spoke on and on 
about her love and the Trojan spoke on 
and on about his ability. He was feverish 
with ambition and she was feverish with 

Aeneas sighed. She was a woman given 
to intricate emotions and he too much of 
a male to divine her anguish. She moved 
against him. The night was warm and 
African and her breatli against his throat 
was a flame. He felt her body quiver in 
an extremity of exquisite grief. He took 
her in disgust, savagely, and Dido 
learned that love and hate are half- 


YVVITH the dawn Carthage lost 
' '^ Aeneas, in the bright, logical, dis- 
passionate dawn. 

Again that evening tlie Queen lay on 
her balcony. Her city seeined a desolate 
spot in the wilderness and her floors and 
flowers incongruities. The sea strummed 
an incessant threnody. The blackness of 
her Nubians did not gleam. A youthful 
handmaiden hovered near the Queen in 

"I am filled with ennui," Dido said 
to the girl. "I shall kill myself, but not 
for love of him. I shall kill myself for 
a more universal reason. The fleetness 
of things. Why undergo another sunset, 
look forward to another dawn? I am 
a woman with an historical sense. I real- 
ize there is no important difference be- 
tween one dawn and four thousand. 
Dawns do not interest me. I have seen 
many. They plagiarize one another. I 
shall kill myself to escape fleetness and 
futility. He was not brilliant, my lover. 
He had no mental capacit}', only a sub- 
limated ego. He had a glint in his eye, 
a well-turned leg and there is no clause 
in any philosophy that could defeat the 
yellow of lu's liair. I shall kill myself to 
escape futile dawns." She played with her 
goblet of wine. "Ah ! but his hair was 

The Mediterranean crashes and crum- 
ples on the sands of the African shore 
and once, there, a scented pyre, more 
orgiastic than funereal, bore some queen- 
ly ashes. 

Sail to New York 





and GAY HAVANA, en route 

Patiti}>:a Mail Liners Arc Specially Built for Serz'ice in the Tropics 

TWENTV-EIGHT days of pure delight aboard a palatial Panams Mall Liner with 
seven nevcr-tu-bc-forgotten visits ashore at picturesque and historic ports — Manzan- 
iilo, Mexico; San Jose de Guatemala; La Libertad, Salvador; Corinto, Nicaragua. 
Two days in the Canal Zone. See the great Panama Canal; visit B.ilboa, Cristobal and 
historic old Panama. 

Every cabin on a Panama Mail Liner Is an outside one; each lias an electric fan, 
and there is a comfortable lower bed for every passenger. There is an orchestra for 
dancing; deck games and sports and salt water swimming tank. 

Costs Less Than ^9 a Day 

The cost Is less than $9.00 a day for minimum tirst class passage, including bed 
and meals on steamer. Go East by Panama Mail and return by rail {ov the reverse routing 
for $380) for as little as $150- (This price does not include berth and meals on trains.) 
Panama Mall liners leave San Francsco, LosAngcle:^ and New York approximitely every 
21 days. Next sailings from San Francisco; SS COLOMBIA, Sept. 17; SS VENE- 
ZUELA, Oct. 8. From New York: SS ECUADOR, Sept. 2+; SS COLOMBIA, Oct. 22. 

For illustrated hooklets and further details ask any steanish'p or 
ticket agent, or zcrite to 


548 S. Spring Strkei' 

2 Pine Strelt 

10 Hano\lr Square 

The San Franciscan 


(Continued from Page 26) 

thought, he would become so rich as to 
spend the rest of his life in luxur)'. But 
the only job he could secure from the 
empknment agencies in Ottawa was of 
a cook's assistant in a lumber camp, out 
in the heavy woods, some 200 miles 
the cit}'. The lordly pay was $10 a 
month, or less. Robert Dollar accepted it. 
Awful work it was to cook for sev- 
eral hundred of these rough lumberjacks' 
There were no rules then regulating the 
hours of work of a youngster. Robert 
had to toil from dawn to dusk, and until 
the unruly lumbermen had slept off. 
Then, in the kitchen light, young Dollar 
would try to do some reading. He had 
remembered the thrashing that the 
schoolmaster in old Scotland ga\e him, 
to make a scholar of him. He did some 
arithmetical problems, some writing and 

"LJ IS personality has been carved out. 
-*■-'■ He had faced hells. He feared 
nothing. He wanted to get into business 
for himself. He had saved something 
from his frugal living 

Late in life then, as ordinary life 
goes, Robert Dollar turned to the lumber 
mill business. He moved down from 
Canada to California, and got into the 
lumber mill industry here. Tall lumber 
was shipped out from San Francisco to 
foreign countries. Mr. Dollar wanted to 
capture most of this trade. 

About the time of the Spanish-Ameri- 
can war, Mr. Dollar perceived the ad- 
vantage of owning a freight ship to send 
his lumber in. He purchased, somehow, 
a boat that had been to the Philippines, 
I believe. Thus began the Dollar Ships 
Service. How it grew into an immense 
fleet — circumnavigating the globe! 

Captain Dollar's first ship, "The 
Newsboy," was barely 300 tons. And 
look at the Dollar ships of the around- 
the-world service, that followed! The 
Dollar globe service was started in Sep- 
tember, 1913, with seven ships that Mr. 
Dollar had purchased for passenger and 
freight ser\ice, from the United States 

The multimillionaire Robert Dollar, 
past 83 — is finishing his last bit of the 
crisp apple pie: the coffee is strong, and 
stirs my imagination and I see before 
me — "Grandpa Neptune, big boss of 
the sea — eating apple pie with his fork- 
like Trident! '"^ 



One of the Oldest Banks in California, 
the Assets of which have never been increased 
by mergers or consolidations with other Banks 


526 California Street, San Francisco, Cal. 

JUNE 30th, 1927 

Assets $113,925,831.54 

Capital, Reserve and Contingent Funds 4,700,000.00 

Employees' Pension Fund over $575,000.00, 

standing on Books at 1.00 

MISSION BRANCH Mission and 21st Streets 

PARK-PRESIDIO BRANCH Clement St. and 7th Ave. 

HAIGHT STREET BRANCH Haight and Belvedere Streets 

WEST PORTAL BRANCH West Portal Ave. and Ulloa St. 

Interest paid on Deposits at the rate of 

FOUR AND ONE-QUARTER (41^) per cent per annum, 






407 Montgomery Street 

T/ie Fiiiamial Center Building 



The San Franciscan 
[32] /■ 


of San Francisco 

SEASON 1927-28 

opens ill the 

Community Playhouse 

Cor. Sutter & Mason {Woman's Bldg;. ) 

Thursday Evening, Sept. 8th 



A Successful Comedy by Noet Coward 

With Emelie Melville, Curtis Arnall 

and Barrie O'Daniels. 

Performances Sept. 8th, 9th, loth, 

15th, 1 6th, 17th. 

Sat. Mats. Sept. loth and 17th. 




Sensational Theatre Guild (N.Y.) success. 
E.xceptional Cast includes Virginia 
Pearson, Curtis Arnall, Emelie Mel- 
ville and Barry O'Daniels. 
Performances Sept. 22nd, 2jrd, 24th, 
29th, 30th and Oct. i. 
Sat. Mats. Sept. 24th and Oct. i. 

Prices: Evgs., 75c ro S1.50. Mats. 50c and 75c. 
Subscription Bks. ($10) Save You 33H% 

flrc^^ ^^,- 




Itili'i mi- 


Ibml '^^'^S^^H^^E 


Hollywood Plaza Hotel 

Hollywood's Fimff 

Vine Street and Hollywood Blvd. 

CHAS. DANZIGER. .JUanagitig IHrecior 

The Reigning Dynasty 

(Continued from Page 19) 

Filmer have as their house guests, Mr. 
and Mrs| Bliss Rucker and Mr. and Mrs. 
Russell Wilson. 

The beach is alive with attractive 
young men. Mr. Nickolas Luddington 
of Philadelphia, whose father recently 
purch.ised the home of Peter Cooper 
Bryce, having with him three of his 
friends recently graduated from Yale, 
and Mr. William Miner, nephew of Max 
Fleischman, having as his guest for the 
summer Mr. Brooks Begp-s. Leon Walker 
flies the owner's flag aboard the Alma 
each week-end and the debonair Mr. Orel 
Goldaracena added his deft and light 
touch to many functions. It remained, 
however, for the ubiquitous Mr. Cov- 
ington Janin to make an almost perfect 
vacation record. A pillar of strength 
upon the volley ball court, a mighty man 
before the Lord upon the baseball dia- 
mond, invincible at tennis, he also had 
the knack of gracing an almost unbe- 
lievable number of luncheons, teas, cock- 
tail parties, dinners and dances. He was 
a host in himself. 

Edgecliff, by the bye, has put out of 
joint the more elderly nose of Miramar 
by stealing premier place in the social 
sun. The parasols of Miramar cluster by 
the pier and a scant half-mile along a 
No Man's land of golden sand, those of 
Edgecliif dot the beach, like two rival 
camps. An armistice is on, for Edgecliff 
rests happily in its knowledge of its 
exclusiveness, while Miramar carries 
proudly its tradition of age, and so visi- 
tors stroll from one to the other, pro- 
vided, of course, that they bear guest 
cards, for Edgecliff insists upon that for- 

At both places one finds a restaurant. 

Frank Carroll Giffen 

Teacher of Siiigi/ig 


Tth-phune Graystone 3320 
By Appointment Only 


Popular Lecture Series 

Popular Prices 

7 Lectures $5.00 

All Seats Reserved 
Students Tickets, 7 Lectures, $3.00 

Lowell Thomas 

October ^ i 
With Lawrence in Arabia. Illustrated. 

Capt. John Noel 

Mt. Everest Expedition. 
Motion Pictures. 


The Friendly Arctic. Illustrated. 

Maurice Hindus 
Richard Halliburton 

Author of "Royal Road to Romance" 
and "Glorious Adventure." 

Walter Prichard Eaton 

American Dram.a — Past and Present. 

John Erskine 

Author of "Helen of Troy," 
Scottish Rite Auditorium 

Special Lectures 

Prince William 
of Sweden 

"Big Game Hunting in Pigmy Land." 

Motion Pictures. 

Auspices Swedish -American 

Patriotic League 

Civic A uditorium 

Noz'ember 7, 8:20 f.m. 

Reserved Se.its $1.00, $2.00, $3.00. 

(Plus tax) 

Judge Ben Lindsay 


Rabbi Louis I. Newman 

Subject: "Should Compassionate Mar- 
riage as Advocated by Judge Lindsay 
be Legalized? " 
Scottish Rite Auditoriu))! 
October 26th 
Reserved Seats $1.00, $1.50, $2.00. 
(Plus tax) 

Aline Barrett Greenwood 

Current Rez'iews 

Monthly, Opening Oct. 7th 
Tickets for all Lectures 
.'vt Sherman, Clay and Co. 

The San Franci 

Jh9 latiLced eniranee 
— kuo-zi'}i round the vcorld 

Incomparable Chocolates 

for those who seek the Highways 
and Bjvvays for the unusual 


Priced from $^ 

DcLuxe Assortments — $5, $6, $7, 

$8 and ^10 the pound 






<3 1 S 

suTTea ST 

8- 1 T T 

a cafeteria de luxe, in which one makes 
a selection of hot and cold dishes, succu- 
lent salads, arrays of iced fruits, and tall 
glasses of cooling beverages. One takes 
one's tray to an umbrella and there, upon 
the sand, in bathing suit eats upon a small 
table just high enough to be comfortable. 

Off shore lie the low and graceful 
ships of Mr. Bixby of Los Angeles and 
Mr. Leon Walker of San Francisco, 
while towards Santa Barbara on the wat- 
er white sails cluster like spotless gulls. 

The old champagne set which is ever 
perturbed by the drinking proclivities of 
the young gin and Scotch set is agog over 
the latest fad in alcoholics. It is reported 
that a contingent of young men alighted 
from the morning train from San Fran- 
cisco and sped to one of the group's 
home for breakfast. Sitting at each place 
was a tall glass of morning orange juice. 
From various hips came flasks and the 
glasses were filled to the brim with gin 
and downed before the advent of the 

A breakfast dansant next, eh? 

Vincent O'SulIivan 

(Continued from P-ige 14.) 

Wilde's habit of holding white carna- 
tions over a sulphur flame so that he 
might sport green carnations. The 
Beardsley coterie inhaled sulphuric 
fumes: they are all green carnations. 

Some dark and rainy evening, when 
the shadows of lost ladies and romantic 
gentlemen perplex you, if indeed they 
do, when Dr. Coolidge has just deliv- 
ered another excruciatingly banal ad- 
dress, when Michael Arlen's latest novels 
are cluttering the book-shops, and the 
very skies themselves seem to cry with 
American madness, pull down the blinds, 
pour out a stiff dram of the best your 
cellar affords, and read "The Good 
Girl." Then may your pastor pray for 
your immortal soul! 

Now It Can Be Told 

(Continued from Page 11) 
Just by way of comment we wish to 
add that five days have elapsed between 
the stealing of the car and its recovery, 
and during that time the thief had been 
entirely unmolested by a single member 
of tile p:)lice force. But when the right- 
ful owner wanted to go about his legal 
business, he was at once exposed to the 
rigorous treatment of our watchful, 
though obese, constabulary. It took him 
four days more to recover his own prop- 
erty from the guardians of our safety. 









ALC bvE 


Old and New 

542 Ramona Street 

Phone P. A. 1960 

The San Franciscan 





PHONE 634 

"Betty 'Noble 




Near Pierce 

Fillmore lys' 


The Digger Indian 

(Continued from Page 15) 

rubber compound under high pressure 
with the color in the mix, cut in mosaic 
and set with the aid of brass strips like 
cloisonne enamel. The area is di\ided 
by columns in such a way it falls natur- 
ally into six equal panels. In each of these 
is a large Indian motive, all different, 
and multiple small borders define each 
unit. The floor was designed by Mr. 
Henry Howard. 

All of these patterns were accurately 
transcribed from the baskets, practically 
all from northern California work, prin- 
cipally that of the Pomos and Hupas and, 
to a certain extent, the Yuruks. But in 
the baskets the color range is necessarily 
\ery restricted, usually only three or four 
shades of brown and black. Some inkling 
of the Indians' love of color, however, 
when they could contrive it, is revealed 
in the weavings with bird feathers. Here 
are clear bright yellow, red and blue, 
always with a black accent. 

JEANETTE Dyer Spencer has been 
the first artist to compose in this re- 
discovered pattern language. She has 
taken the units of the Indian patterns, 
felt herself into the spirit of their forms 
and so created subtle and brilliant varia- 
tions on typical California themes. She 
is a graduate of the University of Cali- 
fornia School of Architecture and then 
worked for five years on stained glass 
in the Ecole du Louvre in Paris, studying 
especially the great windows of the 
Sainte Chapelle. 

She has designed for the Ahwahnee, 
ten stained glass panels forming the top 
transoms of the high windows in the 
great lounge. Each is different but they 
create a rhythmic sequence which carries 
a mo\'ement of jewelled color around 
the boom, t}'ing together the decorative 
scheme. An overmantle from her design, 
summarizing the ensemble, will he ren- 
dered later. Equally effective and quite 
different in spirit, is an overmantle in 
the lobby, a composition of the strong 
forces of movement inherent in Hupa 
and Pomo patterns. 

Thus the Digger comes into his own, 
in\entor of a range of design, virile, 
original, rhythmic, which can fittingly 
be rendered in the highest of the archi- 
tectural decorative arts and which pro- 
\ide a new set of forms for the designer 
of insight. 

Such delightfully 
Sophisticated clothes 


Burlingame and San Mateo 


hERl~rA<SE OF /\fl~r A^-J D CLJL"T-ur5.E 


*l,950 TO $12,000 inCLUDinQ THE TAX.' 




ktoher 1927 

25 Cents 


c-xPRE-a:=^ion or tme 





p ^ n A U LT 

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^KViCEr .ATATlOn &. PACT/ 
778 786 eiEVenTM AVE: 

J1950TO J I2000 

TA.K ir4Cl.U(>C{> 




After the 

Big Qame--' 





atop nob hill 

November 19 th. 

Music By 

Anson Week's 

¥a vors — Fea tures — Revelry 

'Make your reservations noir 

D r n AU LT 

A TvcnTicm (cnTURV 
cxpRE-v^ion or TnE 
rRcncn civiLizATion 



IKIIT 11/ 

P E- ri A U L T 

7IQ FlPTl-l • AVErnuE 
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778 786 ELE-VtnTM AVE: 

950 TO 5 I2000 





After the 

Big Qame--- 





atop nob hill 

November 19th. 

Music By 

Anson Week's 

Favors — Features — Revelry 
Make your reservations now 




October i6, Sunday Afternoon, at the Co- 
lumbia Theatre, Jascha Heifetz, Russian 
Violinist. (Oppenheimer attraction.) 

October l 8, Tuesday Evening, at the Civic 
Auditorium, Claudia Muzio, Dramatic 
Soprano. (Oppenheimer attraction.) 

October ig, Wednesday Ever.ii.g, at the 
Playhouse of the Women's Building, T//e 
Persinger String Quartet. 

October 21, Friday Afternoon, at the Cur- 
ran Theatre, San Francisco Symphony, 
first concert of the season. 

October 23, Sunday Afternoon, at the Cur- 
ran Theatre, San Francisco SymfAony. 

October 31, Monday Afternoon, Gold 
Ballroom, Fairmont Hotel, Snial/man 
Costuvied A Cafella Choir. (Alice Seck- 
els Matinee Musicales.) 

November i, Tuesday Evening, Civic 
Auditorium, Municipal "Pop" Concert, 
San Francisco Symphony, with Alex. 
Brailozcsky, pianist, as guest artist. 


October i7,Monday Evening, Scottish Rite 
Auditorium, Current Reviezvs bv Aline 
Barrett Greenzcood. (Seckels-Fletcher at- 

October 3 i,Mond.iy Evening, Scottish Rite 
Auditorium, Lozvell Thomas, "With 
Thomas in Arabia." (Seckels-Fletcher at- 

The Theatre 

The Alcazar: Pigs. Which all goes to 
prove that sick pigs should be cared for. 

The Columbia: The Pelican. Marjorie 
Rambeau as the mother who'd just about 
do anything for "her boy." To be fol- 
lowed by The Vortex by Noel Coward. 

The Curran: Gay Paree. A Shubert show, 
to open October 2. Thev sav it's good, 
but you never can tell until you get there! 

The Capitol: Padlocked as we go to press. 

The Lurie: ''Oh, Kay." This is a "gilt- 
edge" proposition! Gershwin music and 
Elsie Janis in the Gertrude Lawrence 

President: What Anne Brought Home. 
Opens October 2. We're going because 
we're curious. 

Community Playhouse: Fata Morgana, 
October 6, 7, 8. A Hungarian boy being 
seduced by a Hungarian lady. Splendid. 
Fanny's First Play, October 13, 14, 15 
and 20, 21, 22. Shavian. 

Orpheum: The best in vaudeville. 


Calu'ornia: The Magic Flame. The flame 
being \'ilma Banky. 

St. Francis: Annie Laurie. Lillian Gish, 
the Bernhardt of the screen, being Scot- 
tish. A perfect picture. 

The Imperial: Rises majestically — it's a 
first-run house again. 

Warfield: For better or for worse, it 
changes weekly. Usually for better. 

Granada: And the same applies here. 

RiALTo: It promises to be the new home for 
foreign-made pictures. 

Dining and T)a7icing 

The Mark Hopkins: The Peacock Room. 
The "nobbiest" place on Nob Hill for 
dining and dancing. 

Tait's-at-the-Beach: On Sloat Boulevard. 
It's unusual, it's diff'erent, and it's distinc- 

The Saint Francis: The Garden Room. 
De luxe entertainment with de luxe sur- 

Cafe Marquard: Geary and Mason. Con- 
tinental and convenient. 

La Casa Bigin: 441 Stockton. Where so- 
called artists relax a bit. 

Clift Roof-Lounge: Geary at Taylor. 
Genteel is the word for it. 

The Aladdin Studio: 363 Sutter. Some- 
times a bit rowdy — but always amusing. 

Cabiria: 530 Broadway. Inexpensive in- 
formality and a good revue to boot. 

The Jungle Inn: Next to Cabiria. Cocoa- 
nuts, bamboo, monkeys and palms. Every- 
thing that's tropical, except the heat. 

New Shanghai Cafe: 332 Grant Avenue. 
The best we have in the Oriental line. 

Francis Tea Room: 3 1 5 Sutter. If you trv 
it once, it'll become a habit. 

Temple Bar Tea Room: No. i Tillman 
Place. The tea room with references. 

Martha Jean's: 270 Sutter and 340 Mason. 
They're sisters — and they're both GOOD 

La Casa Alta: 442 Post Street. This place 
is a real treat. 

Coppa's: 120 Spring. Cuisine prepared espe- 
cially for artists. 

The Loggia: 127 Grant. A delightful re- 
treat for the Grant Avenue shopper. 


Courtesy of "The Argus" 

Beaux Arts Galerie: October I to 15, 
one-man show bv Rinaldo Cuneo; Oc- 
tober 17 to 31, one-man show by E. 
Charlton Fortune. 

California Little Gallery: Mosaic 
els by Ernest R. Hanson. 

California Palace of the Legion of 
Honor: Carl Hamilton collection of 
Italian renaissance art objects. Special ex- 
hibit of paintings and sculpture by mod- 
ern artists of Europe and America. 

California School of Fine Arts: Repro- 
ductions of drawings by old masters. 

De Young Memorial Museum: Paintings 
and statuary by American and European 

East-West Gallery of Fine Arts: Paint- 
ings by Diego Rivera, of Mexico. 

Paul Elder Gallery: Etchings and litho- 
graphs b}- Alfred Hulty. 

S. & G. Gump Co.: Water colors by Heath 

Modern Gallery: Paintings and litho- 
graphs by Conway Davies. 

Nineteen - Ninety California Street: 
Paintings of Italian, Spanish, Moorish and 
other figures and landscape subjects by 
Trevor Haddon, R. B. A. 

Worden Gallery: Paintings by California 
artists. Etchings and mezzo-tints. 

Robinson Jeffers 

A photographic likeness of the California poet, Robins'jn lexers, executed by Johan 
Hagemeyer. Mr. Jeffers' dramatic poems, "Tamar," "Roan Stallion" and "The Woman 
at Point Sur" have been given extremely high commendation by important American and 
English critics. George Sterling said of him: "He speaks not in years, but in ages." 



No More Parades 

A Lament for the Hey-Day of the Calliope and the Brass Rail 

YOUTH is most capable of mak- 
ing swift, irrevocable decisions. 
Doubt, tolerance, wisdom; these 
have not arrived to perturb and shackle. 
Youth is always right! Youth is the 
great propulsity to action ! 

At seventeen the boy decided upon an 
hegira — out of the effete East into the 
young world: the West: California, San 
Francisco. There was parental acquies- 
cence if not approval; and some money 
for the long journey. And when, at in- 
tervals, money went low, there were 
ways of earning a little here and there. 
At worst, there were sheltering hay- 
stacks and food from friendly houses. 
So, without any of those experiences of 
which the vast hobo literature of today 
is predicated, the boy arrived in San 

A hot bath, a night between crisp, 
white sheets, new clothes fresh from the 
stock of a Kearny Street clothier; and 
the boy, his eyes open wide in glad won- 
der, was in the midst of a pag^-ant 
gorgeous and glorious, led by none other 
than the great Don Caspar de Portola 
emerged from the shadows to mount 
again the crests of sloping hills and ac- 
claim anew the glory of forgotten years. 

At the corner of Market and O'Far- 
rell streets where in rubric gaudiness a 
United Cigar store stands, the boy was 
caught up in the confluent tides of a 
gigantic night parade and hurled into a 
vortex of humanity. His breath could 

By David Warren Ryder 

come only in gasps, cigars which he car- 
ried in his vest pocket a la Babbitt were 
flattened to uselessness, and from its 
mutilated carcass the blue life-blood of 
a prized fountain pen filtered through 
under-garments, forming on his flesh 
rude, grotesque designs not unlike those 
tattooed upon the limbs of his barb.-iric 

But the boy's enthusiasm remained; 
was heightened, even. On and on and 
on swirled the parade — tens of thou- 
sands of people gay and carefree; march- 
ing, singing, dancing, shouting — and 
the boy with it. It was then he first 
tasted ecstasy. It was then, too, that he 
first tasted that invigorating and now 
outlawed brew, and it was then he dis- 
covered its relation to parades. At every 
other corner up and down Market Street 
great eddies of exuberant humanity 
surged from the main current into the 
beer saloons where bar-tenders, white- 
clad and perspiring, worked like light- 
ning and with the precision of machines 
to meet the demand for this foaming, 
friendly beverage, and then surged out 
and into the parade again. Memories of 
that parade still linger. Its colorfulness 
and mighty splendor, its sparkle and its 
ecstasy the intervening j'ears have not 
erased from recollection. 

NOT before and never again did 
the boy see such a parade ; not the 
stately inaugurals of Washington 

clothed with too much dignity; not the 
long khaki lines marching songfully to 
war to shed their own and others' blood. 
Not even those unserried, frenzied 
thousands of Armistice Day; with them 
it was not sheer joy, but swift, terrible 
release of emotions long fettered. 

No, never again did the boy see such 
a parade. Never again does he expect to. 
There are no more parades. For the 
nation which went songfully to war to 
overthrow far-off" autocracy, returned to 
peace and found autocracy enthroned as 
righteousness. The world had been 
made safe for democracy; and unsafe 
tor almost everything else; the world 
had become a veritable mad-house of 
equality, wherein Beauty lay in ugly 
mutilation, Joy was proscribed, and lib- 
erty in thought or action penalized. 
Down, down, down to the one dead 
level of mediocrity came everything 
superior; and evervwhere there stood or 
were being built, hastiles of opinion — 
huge, ugh' structures with )'awning 
doors, purposed to incarcerate and suffo- 
cate to death or into submission all who 
would not worship the new god — Stand- 


OLD gods now are dead; a new one 
reigns instead, and reigns alone. 
All things once beautiful, all now are 
standardized. The bold free spirit with 
which men imbued shouldered guns and 

(Continued to Page ig) 

The San Franciscan 

Now It Can Be Told 

THE scene, my masters, is laid in 
the brilliantly lighted lobby of the 
San Francisco Civic Auditorium. It is 
a Thursday evening. La Cena Delle 
Bejfe is presented for the first time to 
San Franciscans. Ripples of reserved ex- 
citement flutter hither and yon. A stun- 
ning array of fashionable matrons scat- 

ter blinding jewel-beams over the set. 
And before each entrance to the theatre 
stand hefty Lads of Erin, freshly shaved, 
immaculately uniformed, straight as 
their corsets will line them. Cogno- 
scentes of the hallowed elect, gentlemen 
whose duty it is to direct the helpless 
and ward off the bold, tactful in the 
teeth of battle and grave in the center 
of wit, they are the imsung heroes of 
the Opera season. And to the kingpin 
of them all, to the extraordinary tall 
one whose uniform was a dazzle itself, 
on this pleasant Thursday evening came 
one of our most important dowagers, 
whose lineage extended back to Cain 
and whose jewels weighed ten pounds. 

"Will you tell me," she asked, 
"where I may find the librettos?" Our 
gendarme des opera bowed froin the 
waist. "In the basement, madam," he 
answered. "Ladies to the left." 

THE Sur-realisnie of modern aes- 
thetic journalism has for some time 
been a matter of glowing interest to the 
Lords and Ladies whose scheme in life 
is to assure the monthly birth of The 
San Franciscan. While our embel- 
lished motto, ora et lahora, remains po- 
tent over our portals, we have often 
meditated on eliminating the "labora" 
and simply praying. And our decision 
ripened into lusty blossom last week on 
the advent of three blue-coated o-entle- 
men paying us a visit. We ducked be- 
hind a twelve-pound pronouncing gaz- 
zetteer and frantically locked every 
drawer in sight. Our force immediately 
commenced the burial of manuscript and 
subscription paltrics in the nearest paste 
pots. The office girl vanished; window 

shades shut up; clocks stopped; erasers 
crumbled to dust and our closet-skele- 
tons did a sixty-second clog to the tune 
of "Sheriff, Spare the Name Upon the 
Door." When the dust cleared and the 
field of battle stilled, we were asked to 
purchase a ticket to the Annual-Some- 
thing-or-Other these splendid, upstand- 
ing, intelligent and gracious gentlemen 
were sponsoring. ( We desire toannounce 
we will give one of these prettily en- 
graved tickets with each subscription to 
The San Franciscan for the next ten 
years. ) 

BELIEVING nothing is beautiful 
but the truth and that to understand 
all is to pardon all, we must recite the 
Tale of the Petaluma Adventurer. Ar- 
riving from an Eastern city, the earnest 
traveler desired only to settle on a wee 
chicken ranch and let the rest of the 
world go butter itself. All went well 
luitil, with the completed purchase of 
eleven hens, he was informed by the 
dealer that cocks at the time were ex- 
ceedingly rare and, of a fact, could not 
be bought. But he would toss in with 
the hens one quite youthful and ener- 
getic parrot. The sale was completed 
and caged. The poultry was delivered 
to a coop and placed in the gentleman's 
Detroit Didymous and the return to San 
Francisco commenced. Lo! on reaching 
the highway the little brown hens were 
seen filing back down the road. There 
was a decided dignity in their stride and 
a resolute bob to their heads. One be- 
hind the other, looking neither to the 
right nor left, they were solemnly quit- 
ting the Ford. Perched with some exas- 

peration on the tail lamp, the parrot was 
calling after them: "If you girls care 
to reconsider you may resume your seats 

A MORSEL is brought to our door 
by a deacon of the Fourteenth 
Evangelistic Temple. It has to do with 
the recent visit of one of England's emi- 
nent novelists, a gentleman of no small 

attainments, a person of culture and 
bearing. A sumptuous luncheon at a ven- 
erable club was spread before the digni- 
tary with no less than fifty intensely 
respectable and slightly awed members. 
The Honorable Visitor dropped an oc- 
casional fork in an occasional dish and 
struggled inwardly with the vast amount 

of American book lore at his command. 
The luncheon ended — alas! — as lunch- 
eons will, and England's pride struggled 
to his feet, screwed in his monocle and 
delivered up the following pithy par- 
cel of panegyrical pleonasm: "Jove, m' 
friends, it's marvelous to be here with 
you. To be here in the very hall your 
famous Poet-Novelist, George Sterling, 
once walked. His lines flood my mem- 
ory. Magnificent lines! Stern and un- 
bending, rock-ribbed, I dare say. One 
of his poems I have read and re-read. 
A marvelous hymn. It is all summed up 
and boiled down when your poet sings: 

" '/« the world's broad field of battle, 
Where the graz<e's the final goal. 
Though we're dense as driven cattle — 
Each man's general of his soul!'" 

And the attending applause, to quote 
a droll tid-bit of American vernacular, 
"splintered the rafters and put out the 



ELECTION days are upon us and 
with them, alas, the horribly as- 
cending scale of prices for eait de vie. 
True, the political brethren have en- 
gineered easy entrance to the Pearl City 
on the part of rum runners and liquor 
merchants. Case upon case has been de- 
posited in ancient dwellings throughout 
the Sunset and Richmond districts. A 
glorious selection of Canadian and Scot- 
tish labels are on hand — for the price. 
The cowl, of course, does not make the 
monk nor does the bark decide the sap; 
but who among the beau monde in these 
days looks beneath the cowl or tears 
aside the bark.' We have received an 
authentic quotation, printed exquisitely 
on hand rolled stock, and for the discre- 
tion of our valued subscribers a few se- 


The San Franciscan 

Icct items are listed herewith. (You are 
advised these prices are in order until 
Novemher fifteenth, and all other quo- 
tations spurious): Canadian — cham- 
pagne, pearl #2, 12 qts. @ $10. sngl., 
$100. per cse. Champagne, 12 year 
province of Champagne, Fr., # 6, 12 
qts. @ $17. sngl., $175. per cse. Whis- 
kies — Cndian Clb., MacDougal., Green 
River., Thompson's exta. dry, Hennesy 
#'s I, 2, 3, 4, Pontoon's Golden Vel- 
vet, Walker, etc., etc., 5 qts per sack; 
$8.50 sngl., $35. per sack. Gins — 
Booth's Hind., Dutch Silver., Gordon 
exta. dry., McPherson's exta-exta dry 
#'s 467, 354, Juno's Hind., etc., etc., 
10 fifths per case; $6. sngl., $50. per 
cse. Scotland: Whiskies — MacDougal 
in wood; Homer's clb. size 10 smrs; 
River of Clyde, qts. only; Bonaparte 
Special, King's Own Brand, 15 smrs. in 
oak; Gold o' Doon, all in pts. Pts, 
$5., Qts: singly: $9.50. It will be noted 
the Scottish product does not run higher 
than the Canadian. You may advise 
your representative in these matters to 
order the Scotch brands early if desired 
over the Canadian. 

WE happened to trickle in on an 
important rehearsal last week. 
Players, electricians, carpenters, manag- 
ers, secretaries, costumers, backers and 
owners were scattered over three-quar- 
ters of the dimly lighted stage. Off in 
one corner, widowed and hobble-kneed, 
shell-backed and gray, lonely as the 
flower on a midnight tomb and dis- 
dained by mechanic and star alike, a 
gentleman was busily engaged in assort- 
ing and marking upon what seemed to 
us cigar coupons. Now and then a player 

would sink to the floor gasping, twitch- 
ing, dying. (Part of the play, children.) 
At other times, in a voice smacking of 
unborn mushrooms, someone would cry: 
"Ah, no! No! No! I shouldn't!" Then 
huskily: "Ah, let me go. I should never 
have come here!" The director would 
girgle, the lead would sob. And through 
it all, abject as an empty glass, the gen- 
tleman all by his lonely continued to 

pore over his coupons and keep out of 
the way. We felt sorry for him. We 
felt he might be the star's half-witted 
brother. We tapped the gentleman in 
front of us on the shoulder, unable to 
cork our curiosity. "Oh, Him?" the 
man answered. "He wrote the play." 

ALONG with the frosted cakes, the 
lapel pins, the maudlin ballads and 
press molasses comprising this city's mag- 
nificent tribute to Lindbergh, must be 
added the droll Market Street Peddler 
and his one-thousand-dollar plunge in 

the pasteboard exchange. Dashing diz- 
zily about God's Free Asphalt from 
Third to Fifth on Market, this earnest 
disciple sold to a thirsting public little 
bits of neatly printed board which en- 
titled the holder to a handshake with 
Colonel Charles Augustus Lindbergh. 
For ten nickels, five dimes, two quar- 
ters, or half a dollar, the sober citizen 
might purchase from this Jug-of-Water- 
on-a-Desert-of-Dust not only a face to 
face view of the Mighty Eagle, but — • 
lo! — a touch of his hand. We have it 
from no less an authority than Aloysius 
Garfunkle that the gentleman disposed 
of two thousand tickets between ten and 
eleven of the morning the Aviator vis- 
ited the Golden City. O tempora! 

YV7HEN Charlie Chaplin wished to 
"" commence upon the story of "THE 
CIRCUS" he desired to leave Holly- 
wood behind and seek a restful environ- 
ment conducive to thought, so took a 
suite at the Pebble Beach Lodge. Shortly 
after arrival he bethought himself of 
Gouveneur Morris, the writer, and de- 
cided to get in touch with him and ask 
him over for dinner some evening. 

The person who answered the phone 
was Chinese, and the following conver- 
sation ensued: 

"Is Mr. Gouveneur Morris at home.? " 

"No; he out now!" 

"Well, when he comes in will you 
ask him to call Mr. Charles Chaplin at 
the Pebble Beach Lodge?" 

That night he dined with Francis Mc- 
Comas, the landscape artist, and his wife 

and in the course of the evening's talk 
repeated his conversation with the China- 
man and stated that he expected to hear 
from Gouveneur when he came in. 

Frank and his wife laughed. 

"What's the joke.?" inquired the 
rather surprised comedian. 

"You can't beat a Chinaman!" said 
Frank between laughs. "You'll have 
quite a wait; Govy and his wife are in 

When a few days ago the writer saw 
Mr. and Mrs. Morris at a party in Holly- 
wood, he could not refrain from relat- 
ing the story to them. They smiled and 
Mr. Morris said, "But you don't know 
the funniest half of the story. When 
we arrived home from Spain after a trip 
round the world he greeted us at the door 
and, as our luggage was being carried in, 
informed us that we were to call Mr. 
Chaplin at the Pebble Beach Lodge — " 

"And before I took off my wraps — " 
interrupted his wife, " — I dashed to the 
phone telling Gouveneur that we must 
call back at once. 

"Mr. Charles Chaplin?" came an 
astounded question, then a stammer, 
"Why — er — why he hasn't been here 

for a year! ! ! " 


FAINT'LY redolent of parfum 
Caron, daintily nibbling Wrigley's 
Stupendous American Gesture, she 
reigns undisputed over the chapeaus 
parked during the luncheon hour in a 
great downtown hotel. Four score hats 
and ten, let it be known, are hitched to 
the shelves sans check. Yet with im- 
maculate precision the rightful bonnet is 
delivered unto the rightful head, and 
never in the history of this cherub's duty 
has there been an error perpetrated. We 
approached her during one of those dull 
moments when but five or six portly 

persons were pandering her. "How do 
you know," we asked, putting a dollar 
bill through the aesthetic slit in an aes- 
thetic cigar box, "so exactly who the 
hats belong to?" She slid the box a trifle 
away from our aesthetic fingers, "I 
don't," she said, "I only remember who 
belongs to the hats." 

The San Franciscan. 

The San Franciscan 


Etude in Ugliness 

Is a Present Misery Always Preferable to a New One? 

Avast unpleasantness, an indif- 
ferent universe, a universe 
seriously indifferent and sol- 
emnly ugly, greeted Stephen. He came 
with a burden of weariness into a world 
dedicated to drudgery. So it seemed to 
him. Children played. People laughed. 
But this was not the usual thing. Chil- 
dren cried and people scowled because 
they were not permitted to cry. This 
was the first vague presentiment of life, 
a presentiment that gradually became a 
certainty in Stephen's undeveloped con- 
sciousness. And with Sibylline sagacity 
he was aware that with each added day 
these burdens might grow heavier. One 
had to lie awake at night in order to 
think of pleasant things. It was easy 
to think of pleasant things in the dark. 
At night, one had to pinch oneself in 
order to stay awake and imagine men 
who were not dull and women who 
were not dreary. Sleep brought name- 
less horrors, pallid monsters tottering 
about in a sea of snakes. 

School. Blots of ink on dirty fingers. 
Wash the hands ever so carefulh' still 
the fingers made dark smudges on a 
clean, white page. Penny pencils in- 
variably chewed at the ends. Ugly 
rough paper with faint, sickly blue 
lines. A headache was the result of 
trying to make marks with the funny 
pencils on the rough paper. There was 
a green eraser tucked away in the con- 
fusion of the desk. The green eraser 
helped a headache. The rubber was 
cool. The fingers passed over its 
rounded curves caressingly and with 
great pleasure. Sometimes it would have 
seemed good to break the eraser, tear it 
apart, destroy it, chew it. The green 
eraser was delectable. There were red 
erasers in the store which were equally 
tempting but the green one took away 
a headache. At last a blot of ink ap- 
peared on the green treasure. Stephen 
did not hide it any more. Itching eyes, 
a bulky coat, shoes that scraped and 
creaked in the silence of the schoolroom, 
greenish black stockings and hands al- 
ways dirty. These were everyday an- 
noyances. The open book on the desk 

By Elva Williams 

made the eyes throb and the shoes made 
the stomach dizzy. One had to look 
out of the window. 

Out there the sun shone upon a dusty 
playground, a weatherbeaten fence, or- 
ange peels and a scattered bouquet of 
withered buttercups. The sun was too 
bright. It was coolor in the schoolroom. 
The blackboards were covered with 
chalk marks. The teacher looked very 
cool. She had clean hands. The skin 
on her hands was white and dry, white 
and gritty and covered with chalk dust. 
Big green eyes rolling about suspi- 
ciously. Her green eyes had red rims 
about them. She had a white neck with 
little blue veins running through it. 
The nape of her neck was white and a 
curl fell down over it. But she was 
ugly and seemed very sad. She loved 
someone who loved someone else. Ste- 
phen liked to imagine that. 


SUNDAY school. Everyone was 
clean. Girls in white with funny 
hats. Women with big hats and gloves 
on their hands. The people looked ug- 
lier than ever when dressed up. The 
minister talked for a long time. One 
wanted to giggle and giggle. There 
was a lot of talk about sheep and there 
were pictures of a shepherd in a long 
white robe holding a lamb in his arms. 
The people seemed to like this. There 
was a painful moment when the col- 
lection box was passed. Whether one 
gave money or not it was painful. The 
clink of the money dropping in the box 
made one ashamed. There was a tol- 
erable moment, the moment when the 
minister said in a deep voice: "Have 
mercy upon us miserable sinners." The 
word "miserable" was sad and full of 
meaning. Stephen wanted always to 
cry when he heard the word "miser- 
able". He felt sorry for the people, 
suddenly, and as suddenly his altruistic 
sorrow passed away. For soon after 
they began to sing. The songs were 
ugly and they sang them solemnly. 
Everyone was solemn in church. He 
liked that. But as soon as the services 

were over they laughed and talked in 
loud voices outside of the church. How 
could they forget their solemnity so 
soon? If they had been gay after the 
service that would have been support- 
able. But they were not gay. They 
talked of things that made one's ears 
tired; a horse that died, the price of 
butter, a baby that was sick with the 

With each day the world grew big- 
ger and put on a more implacable face. 
Stephen sensed that the world did not 
like him. The world did not want him, 
had no use for him and in order to be 
tolerated he must keep quiet, carry kin- 
dling and go to school. In this little 
tight valley he was nothing. There was 
a great world beyond the purple hills, a 
world of excitement and noise. How 
would that world greet him when he was 
as nothing in this desolate narrowness? 
If at the end of a hot Sunday afternoon 
he heard a cock crow or a train whistle 
from afar life became intolerable and 
he would creep to a dark and lonely 
corner of the cellar to suffer alone. 

THE doctor came once a day. The 
doctor came twice a day. Stephen 
liked the doctor. Everyone liked the 
doctor and spoke kindly to him. They 
liked him because they were afraid of 
him, Stephen thought. Stephen liked 
him because he laughed a lot. Stephen's 
mother took to her bed. Another wo- 
man cooked Stephen's food. He had 
to eat at the table with this strange 
woman. He did not get enough to eat. 
She watched him so closely he was 
afraid to eat. His mother's face grew 
yellow and her hands grew bony. Her 
hands were horrible. It was torture to 
sit at her bedside. She wanted him to 
kiss her. He loved her but it was not 
pleasant to kiss her. He sat for hours 
with her. When she told him to leave 
her and go for a walk he would refuse 
stubbornly. This made her smile. He 
sat by her bedside, unwillingly. His 
whole being cried out against it. The 
room smelled foully. It was hot. The 

(Continued to Page 33) 

The City 
Camera Study by William Horace Smith 

Thic San Franciscan 


A Plea For Justice 

which Shows Conclusively Those In Should Be Out and Those Out Should Be In 

B\ S. Bert Cookslev 

THE little man assumed a pose. 
He eyed the tall man coolly. He 
eyed him severely. There was 
something brave about that eyeing. 

"My ijreat-ereat-great grandfather," 
he said, "was a spearsmith!" 

The tall man seemed unmoved. 
Spearsmiths, it appeared, were a lot of 
uninteresting fellows. He gave the 
short man's statement a blank face. But 
of a sudden, and it was very quickly ac- 
complished, his eyes brightened. 

"That may be," he answered gravely, 

"indeed, that may well be. But " 

and here he tapped an extraordinarily 
long forefinger against the small man's 
collar — "spearsmiths were a common 
bunch of men. Now my family, clear 
back to the Finnegers of Old England, 
included among their number a skil- 
fully exact maker of thumb-rings for 
archers, a weaver of leach bags, an ap- 
pointed maker of Point d'Alengon lace, 
and a designer of bells for flexible silver 
anklets!" The last of his speech was 
hurried. It drained him emotionally and 
he paused for breath, shooting the word 
"anklets" out and up into a small 

Half the company in the room had 
gathered about them by this time. And 
how thoroughly interested they were! 
One of them, a little old lady easily 
beyond the eighty post, became so enrapt 
in the tall man's speech that she dropped 
her spectacles and said quite loudly, 
"Oh, mercy! Oh, mercy!" and just 
opposite her, on the other side of the two 
debators, an elderly gentleman tried to 
rescue them and found he couldn't 
straighten up once he was down. So he 
followed her with "Oh, Lordy! Oh, 
Lordy!" and tried all the time with 
loud sighs to get himself up. But the 
small man was speaking in a high little 
voice that seemed ready any minute to 
break and go on up into nothing: 

"A ring-maker!" he was saving 
sneeringly. "A ring-maker! Why, who 
couldn't make rings! Besides, only the 
weak-minded were given jobs of lace- 
making and ring-turning!" He paused 
and fished about his coat pocket for a 

handkerchief. And for such a small 
man the size of his handkerchief was 
appalling. It was fully large enough to 
do for a small tent. 

"Now I want to tell you," he re- 
sumed when he had blown his nose, "I 
want to tell you that my family, clear 
back to the first of the Tibbitts, were 
makers of saddle covers, forehead orna- 
ments studded with turquoises and am- 
ber and lapis-lazuli, gold nose-rings and 
Kabistan rugs ! " 


The Stranger 

B\ [an Fi.ynn 

Oh stranger, pale and tragical, 
Who walks by ways unfrequented, 
Where the moon's pale rays are shed, 
With mien so fierce and fanciful; 
Within your eyes are mysteries 
That I would f.ithom, hut you seem 
Vague and distant as a dream; 
And within your dreadful eyes 
That gaze a thousand miles away, 
There is a barrier; so I stand. 
Afraid to come into your land, 
I know not what to do or say. 
Oh stranger, pale and tragical, 
1 watch you from an earthy place 
With the moonlight on your face. 
In the moonlight, magical. 

"Oh, mercy, mercy!" murmured the 
little old lady, clinging desperately to 
her spectacles. 

"Lord, oh Lord!" said the old gentle- 
man opposite her, who by this time had 
been helped until he was straight again. 

"Oh, Lord!" 

-Ss ® s 

AND meanwhile, others had joined 
the group and were pressing in so 
anxiously that the tall one's greenish- 
black hat, which bobbed up and down 
like a bat on a clothes line, could hardly 
be seen. 

So there, in the middle of the circle 
of silence, stood both of them, glaring 
at each other with insulted eyes. It was 
the little man's end of it so far, and it 
seemed as though the tall one could do 

nothing but stand there glaring in the 
little fellow's face with sizzling eyes. 
And his face was very red again, so red 
it seemed he were going to explode. It 
seemed, in fact, as though an explosion 
were necessary ; for the tall one was so 
puffed up one or two of the spectators 
began edging back. His tight lips moved 
once or twice, but not so much as a 
squeak came forth. Then, like the 
burst of a dam-gate the words poured 
out of his mouth. 

"Nose-rings! I never did hear of a 
white person wearing nose-rings! That 
just goes to show that your ancestors 
were cannibals!" And out came the 
"cannibals" like a spung from a too- 
filled bottle. 

The little man blanched very pale, 
and the old lady whispered "Mercy, oh 
mercy!" and opposite her the old gen- 
tleman, without seeming to be able to 
collect his thoughts at all, murmured 
"Lord ! " an an awesome whisper. 

THEN, just at that moinent, an un- 
usually deep voice startled them: 

"Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is be- 
ing served." 

So they turned quickly about, as if 
they were instantly through with the 
entire matter, and proceeded to the din- 
ing room. 

But through the dinner Finneger and 
Tibbitt, the one extremely tall and the 
other exceptionally short, were glaring 
sourly at each other. And naughty glares 
they were, in between bites, and they 
spoke volumes of ridicule. (For every- 
one knows a Kabistan rug maker is bet- 
ter than a spearsmith, just as it's com- 
mon knowledge a spearsmith is much 
better than a Kabistan rug maker.) And 
they were so intent in this glaring busi- 
ness that they forgot all about the man 
who considered himself a saw and 
rubbed his body continually against the 
table, and the lady who imagined she 
was a rooster (which seems so idiotic! ), 
and kept crowing, and Cassar down near 
the end of the table who was incessantly 
banging about with his spoon and de- 
manding bigger armies. 

The San Franciscan 

Claudia Muzio 

Greatest of Dramatic Soframs, of era and recital star of the first magnitude. A prime faz'orite 
with San Franrisro audiences. Deprived of hearing her in opera this season, u'e -.ctll he com- 
pensated by her first appearance on the concert stage here this month. 

The San Frakciscak 

Cinema on the Desert 

A Famous Critic Discovers A Wild and Woolly W«gt 

THE robe of night, affixed to the 
sky with big stars and on the 
earth with the gleaming lights of 
cabins scattered over the desert as far as 
dead Montezuma and Goldfield, had 
fallen on Tonopah. Citizens on the 
veranda of the main hotel had been 
glancing at their watches. 

"It will be right time when we get 
there," announced the Engineer. So 
we marched up the street, past the post- 
office and the stock exchange, and on to 
the ramshackle edifice opposite the Elks' 
Hall. A leisurely, post-prandial march 
it was, because it had been for years a 
tri-weekly ceremony. In most mining 
camps the films are changed three times 
a week. 

We were still early. A hundred pa- 
trons had gathered on the sidewalk about 
the bill-boards. They were miners, in 
from the Weepah diggings, prospectors, 
Indian wagon-drivers, assayers, a Jewish 
merchant, a banker, the station agent, 
the citv clerk and other dignitaries, all 
darkened bv the sun and wind, all 
dressed alike: soft hats, loose shirts, cor- 
duroys. Cigarette ends glowed like fire- 
flies. All were quiet, like toads that had 
supped well in the dusk. Three small 
boys elbowed through and sate them on 
the top of the wooden steps and gave 
vent to catcalls and the High School 

A panel shot back in the wall, and a 
face appeared behind bars. The box- 
office was open. We laid down our quar- 
ters, and ticket in hand struggled in line 
through the mob that jammed the stair- 
way. The Engineer propelled me from 
behind. "It'll be a Western tonight," 
he whispered, "full of hard riding and 
bad guys." 

I found mvself in a wooden hall with 
high ceiling draped with cobwebs, and a 
floor of precipitous slope. We slid along 
benches that were like church pews. 
The sole light was down in a front cor- 
ner, near the red "Exit" sign, where a 
Professor banged valorously on a piano 
with snarled internals. Now and then 
he paused to repair a badly rolled cigar- 
ette. At the other corner was a barrel 

B\ Idwal Jones 

stove being stoked to incandescence by 
an elderly Chinaman. 

The station agent struck a match to 
consult the amusement column of the 
Tonopah Times. "What's the picture?" 
asked the Engineer. " 'The Apache's 
Revenge,' eh? Saw it over to Winne- 
mucca last week, and it was a good one, 
if you ask me, even if I am strong for 
Yakima Canute. That boy can ride." 

The authorit\- on the drama and my- 
self moved down to make room for 
three newcomers. They were a little 
withered miner, sixti,- if he was a day, 
escorting a pair of dance-hall Amazons, 
for whom he had bought tickets and 
boxes of chocolates. Perhaps he was in 
their thrall, for he sat with a squelched 
air, tugging at his milk-white mous- 
taches and staring at the blank curtain. 

THE Professor created prolonged 
thunders on the keyboard. In the 
welter of sound an acute ear discerned 
a thread of mclodv that faintlv recalled 
"Arrah Wanna, I'll be True." To 
speed the show we all applauded. A 
slide wiggled on the screen, and settled 
upside down. It was greeted with howls 
and jeers. The vounger generation 
slapped hands on lips, and rent the air 
with the Indian woo-loo-loo cry. The 
slide was reversed, and five hundred 
voices intoned the words of the Elite 
Clothing Emporium's "ad." It cele- 
brated a brand of collars, and proved 
how handsome one would look with 
such a neck-band by revealing a youth 
in top hat, cloak, punctilious evening 
vestments and a superb wing-collar. Yet 
nobodv in the audience wore a collar, 
save the Jewish merchant who owned 
that store, and his was celluloid. 

Then followed the reclame of Mme. 
Gertie's Chic Milliner)-, the O-So-Good 
Bakeri', the Waldorf Lunch, a liver- 
and-onions den but fallaciously termed 
"The Haunt of Epicures," and a color 
slide of a new model limousine manned 
by a chauffeur and footman in full re- 

All this was a prelude to the piece de 
resistance, a gem from "Quicky Row" 

in Hollywood. It followed the recipe 
most favored in nickelodeons in 1909. 
The offering concerned a new ranch 
foreman come out from New "\'ork, 
and the "he" turned out to be a "she," 
much to the dismay of the simple cow- 
boys, and the chagrin of the owner of 
the Lazy Y. No one dared get "fresh" 
with the lady boss, after she had laid 
one prairie amorist cold with a swift clip 
to the jaw. This dramatic climax 
brought the audience cheering to its feet, 
and at this point the dance-hall Ama- 
zons smote their hands the most vigor- 
ously. Then the heroine was kidnapped 
by a roving cattle-thief. With an eye- 
patch, a scrubby beard, earrings and a 
bandana over his brow, he was mani- 
festly a bad hombre. 

It is noteworthy that the apparition 
was received not in silence but with 
roars of laughter. The West takes not 
such villains with seriousness. It does 
not recognize them as valid. But the 
audience was happy to play make-be- 
lieve. Now that we were half way into 
the ston, the Professor and the film 
grinder vied in a contest of speed. The 
film racked noisily two bars ahead of 
the music. It leaped jerkily over blank 
spaces, patched spots, with a melange of 
too-dark and too-light shots, Brobdig- 
nagian close-ups and distance views that 
might have been taken through the small 
end of a telescope. The general effect 
was of an Arctic blizzard. How it 
ended I don't recall. 

The lights were turned on, the "Exit" 
door flew open, and while the Professor, 
yawning, pounded out "Home Sweet 
Home," the audience surged through 
with the precipitancy of peas shot out of 
a sack. 

« •« A 

ON the hotel porch the Engineer 
had a good-night chat. "I dunno 
what I'd do without the movies," he 
said. "They're a civilizing influence, 
that's what they are. Women in Scan- 
dinavia have all bobbed their hair be- 
cause it is done in Hollywood. If the 
stage reforms manners, the movies do 

(Continued to Page 28) 

The San Franciscan 

Shake That Thing! 

Well, there just wouldn't be any reason 
for being there at all unless the gay and 
giddy Beverly were there to squeeze, 
crack, shake 'em up, pour 'em out and 
ply you. One wonders that he didn't 
come into the world with a cook-book 
and a cocktail shaker tucked under either 

Lemon or 

DiiKcjngs by Sotorruyor 

Get There or Bust 

You can always rely on finding Mr. Wil- 
lie Land there early — usually seated very 
matronly between whoever'll listen to his 
"do you know? "s, "are you going? "s 
and "have you been?"s. Mr. Land was 
awarded an autographed copy of the 
"four-hundred" for the male endurance 
contest for pouring tea. 

Willing But Flat 

If the conversation gets too dull, everv- 
one, in turn, takes a fling at coaxing the 
inevitable Larry to the piano. He'll re- 
fuse as long as he dares and will finally 
settle himself to sing through his nose 
for hours! Nothing short of blasting 
could possibly stop him. 


Night and Tempest 

Mrs. Diggs and Miss Eva Cutting both 
take lemon, chew their food carefully, 
and go over the guests one by one, won- 
dering if their antecedents came via 
the Horn, "covered wagon" or whether 
they're just plain "nouveau." 

Old Stock and New 

When the younger generation comes 
crashing through the unsullied gates of 
aristocratic conventionality, Miss Pan N. 
Dishum's first impulse is to make one 
wild lunge for the heirlooms and the old 
family bric-a-brac. 

The San Franciscan 

Guild Dust 

Being the Forward March of the Art Theatre 

By Walter Krieger 

TEN years ago, a pale stripling in 
the Drama Class, let's call him 
"W. S. P."— struggled desper- 
ately for self-expression. He didn't like 
his text-books, much. He had ideas of 
his own, and he had implicit faith in 
those ideas. But like all shy youngsters 
he was inarticulate, so much so that 
Schoolmaster Belasco laughed at him 
right in front of the whole class. But 
W. S. P. (you must remember him now 
— Master Washington Square Players) 
went bravely on expressing himself as 
best he knew. The war dealt him a 
hard blow; took away his life blood; 
but after the Armistice a transfusion 
saved him. He changed his name for 
the better-sounding and more explicative 
name of his adopters — "The Theatre 
Guild, Inc.," and he came into his own! 

DREAMS! How strange they seem 
when, years later, one is sur- 
rounded by the material realization of a 
fond hope. Today the subscription list 
of the Theatre Guild outnumbers that 
of the Metropolitan Opera! The little 
band of Villagers who planned all this 
did not miscalculate, and they did not 
falter. Had they succumbed to apathy, 
doubt, fatigue and fear — familiar 
wraiths that ever and anon appear on the 
battlefield of plan and purpose, the Art 
Theatre of the United States would not 
exist in strength and beauty as it does 
today, fearlessly holding aloft the ban- 
ner of artistic accomplishment and giv- 
ing zest and courage to the community 
theatres scattered country-wide from 
coast to coast. One thousand, is the re- 
port of the Independent Theatres Clear- 
ing House; one thousand experimental, 
non-commercial "little" theatres in the 
United States, where actors, writers, 
scenic designers, costumieres and direc- 
tors are frequently "made"; where tal- 
ent is born, nursed and prepared for 
public recognition, when it is deserving 
of such. 

Without the "Little" or "Art" 
Theatres to produce them, how could 
we see in play form the brilliant works 
of Dunsany, Shaw, O'Neill, Yeats, 

Synge, Strindberg, Irvine, O'Casey? 
When men with minds such as the fore- 
going commenced to write for the the- 
atre, it was not destined that their works 
should remain between the pasteboards 
and linen of book covers. These men 
wrote as the result of a spoken or un- 
spoken demand, just as Anne Nichols 
penned "Abie" for a specific demand. 
Both Anne Nichols and Bernard Shaw 
have their audiences — the one, the 
masses; the other, the classes. It is the 
theatre of many chairs, as distinguished 
from the theatre of certain "airs". The 
Art Theatre was inevitable ! 

HERE on the Western Coast the 
progress of the Little Theatre has 
been noticeably rapid. Santa Barbara 
and Pasadena both have their thriving 
Community Theatres, the latter under 
the direction of Gilmor Brown. At 
Carmel the very enchanting "Theatre 
of the Golden Bough" supplies the art 
colony with caviar theatricals, while the 
Egan Theatre in Los Angeles is fre- 
quently used for "type" plays. The 
Writers' Club in Hollywood continu- 
ously produces art plays for discriminat- 
ing audiences. In San Francisco, where 
over a period of years several attempts 
have been made to establish a Theatre 
Intime, the palm goes without question 
to the Pla\ers' Guild, under the direc- 
tion of Reginald Travers, who began 
his work here over fifteen years ago, and 
who has carried on through trial and 
tribulation, continuously building his in- 
stitution toward higher prestige and 
achievement, while other organizations, 
less resourceful, took flight or perished. 

Commencing as humbly as possible in 
a basement, Travers' little theatre — first 
known as the "Players' Club" — did very 
ambitious things, from one-act plays of 
lovely simplicity to examples of classic 
drama and quaint operettas. Two or 
three times the theatre was moved to 
more commodious quarters, until it be- 
came housed in a cozy little church, 
where the Gothic designs within and 
without added much to the atmosphere 
of the plays. Each season here saw 

bigger and better attractions, with many 
premieres. Eugene O'Neill was intro- 
duced here for the first time outside of 
the extreme East, his "Emperor Jones" 
being one of the star attractions on the 
Players' Club list long before it reached 
San Francisco via the "road". Ruth St. 
Denis and Ted Shawn were seen in a 
colorful dance drama by Charles Cald- 
well Dobie. Finally, Reginald Trav- 
ers forsook his organization to engage 
in the same activity in Greenwich Vil- 
lage, New York, together with William 
S. Rainey and Evelyn Vaughn. Al- 
though a brave attempt was made to 
continue the Players' Club under a new 
regime, the theatre languished. Some- 
thing was wrong; something was miss- 
ing. Rather should I say so?nehody was 
missing, for faithful members gathered 
together the broken threads of an un- 
successful season until Travers' return, 
when all departments and units were re- 
organized and "The Players' Guild" 
was formed. 

WITH The Players' Guild now 
established in the new Commu- 
nity Plaj'house at Sutter and Mason 
Streets; with Reginald Travers faith- 
fully at the helm to stage in his own, 
gifted way a remarkable succession of 
new plays; with an increased list of sub- 
scribers — many of them attracted to the 
Guild by the fine spirit of resourceful- 
ness shown during the tragedy of the 
conflagration; with an experienced Busi- 
ness Manager in the person of Stanley 
MacLewee to guide the organization to 
the harbor of prosperity, it seems that 
The Players' Guild of San Francisco is 
over the rockiest part of the way, and 
well started toward success and perpet- 
ual life. 

"Through Fire to Fortune." That's 
a phrase at which we used to smile. 
Somehow, it sounds like the name of a 
"ten-twenty-thirt" melodrama, doesn't 
it? But it has proved a truism many 
times, in which both individuals and in- 
stitutions were bolted headlong into the 
lap of prosperity. Will it do so again.? 

Between the Rounds 
Reproduction from a Paiiit'nig by George Bello'ws 

"1 cannot help believing that the work of this painter— when the full panorama of it 
has been unrolled and estimated— will takes its place beside the poetry of Walt Whuman and 
the marines of Winslow Homer, and that the three of them will then be seen to constitute 
the most inspiriting, the most native and the most deeply flavored performances 
Art." — Frank Crowninshield in The Mentor. 


r » V San K» a n v > sv •^ n 




Miss Evelyn McLaughlin 

i.ficf f>j>t in tke frtfjr-iticmi for "Tkt Jtmior LfJtguf Follies 

T H K San Franciscan 

The Reigning Dynasty 

IN spite of windv corridors and the 
cyclonic disposition of the auditorium, 
to say nothing of the countless opera de- 
votees that succumb to pneumonia and 
other lungy disorders directly after the 
season, the opera is always a gracious 
spectacle. Women, apt as they are at 
arranging themselves beautifully in a 
box where all the world may view them, 
lend much atmosphere with their gor- 
geous wraps and jewels that blaze de- 
fiance at one another. For where but 
at the opera may a woman retain her 
chic with all the jewels on she is able to 
muster, barring, perhaps, the stomacher 
of the purple nineties. .\s yet we could 
hardly refer to those unstable boxes that 
are erected for dog shows and conven- 
tions alike, as the golden horseshoe. But 
we suffgest that among those in the 
Reigning Dynast)-, who took their 
places each night, none were more con- 
sistent in their devotions to the Muse 
than Mr. and Mrs. Nion Tucker, Mrs. 
Helen Irwin Crocker, Mrs. Fred Sher- 
man, Mr. and Mrs. William Sesnon, 
Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Thompson, Mrs. 
A. B. Dohrmann, Mr. and Mrs. George 
Armsby, Mr. and Mrs. .Alfred Hcn- 
drickson, Mr. and Mrs. Robert Bentlcy. 
Mrs. Sesnon, always charming in white, 
looked particularly so the opening night 
in a velvet gown caught with rhincstone 
and crj'Stal ornaments. Mrs. Dohrmann 
wore black velvet and many pearls. Mrs. 
Armsby chose an amber velvet, heavily 
beaded, and a cloth-of-gold wrap. Mrs. 
Fred Sherman and her two daughters 
drew all eyes to their three golden heads 
as they entered their box. Mrs. Sherman 
wore light green velvet with matching 
wrap of velvet and embroidered in 
rhinestones. Frances Sherman wore 
black velvet and a white ermine wrap. 
Edna Sherman wore a robe-dc-sr\le of 
cream satin and a brocaded silver wrap. 
Mrs. Eric Gers<in was another who 
drew many eyes on the opening night. 
She wore a gown of gold heavily headed 
and a mink wrap which was a distin- 
guishing note of smartness. .Among the 
young matrons, no one looked lovelier 
that night than Mrs. John So ma via 
(Edith von Rhien) whose fragile blond- 
ness and exquisite delicacy was frocked 
in black tulle of many flounces. Har- 
riet Walker, sitting with her aunt, Mrs. 

Willis Walker, wore blue moire and a 
pink wrap, and Barbara Sesnon wore a 
pink shaded ostrich trimmed chiffon. 
Her guest, Elizabeth Moore, accentu- 
ated her dark coloring with flame and 
silver. Color, everywhere one found 
its vibrant vividness. And here and 
there mingled the frosty coolness of 
gleaming white. 


By Fiie:z>£.rick R. Fishfr 

Wise time with g:cnlle finder heals all pain 
And moulds a ncw-sprun^hopcof old despair ^ 
With kindly ma^ic makes to breathe again 
The joys that perished seeming past repair. 

Vet with the flight of four evtendcd years 
My banished love still lingers with Its grief 
And knows no consolation ^ sigh and tears 
But multiply its woe bcj-ond relief. 

O mcmorj' of kisses sweetly pure. 
Of kisses sweet with passion's mad excess, 
Reach thou the portals of my soul obscure 
And ease the anguish of my dark distress. 

Envenomed memory turns its ruthless fang 
I'pon itself to quench the bitter pang. 


opera. The box-holders were faith- 
ful unto the end of the seas<in, which is 
no small matter for twelve {perform- 
ances with yen few "nights off" in be- 
tween in which to catch up with loss of 

The music critics have rendered their 
verdict, which, after all, has no place 
here, this being more or less pertinent 
comment ujxm the audience. The au- 
dience seemed to entertain a vast aware- 
ness of its own part in the drama of the 
opera, all of which was not on the stage. 
Nor yet in the audience. There was a 
cosmos, with a complete complement of 

loves and hates and conflict, backstage 
as well. 

It was racial and geographical and 
antedates cither Merola or Hertz, but 
makes both the cafricus. .\nd grinds ex- 
ceedingK fine, .^nd will grind exceed- 
ingly finer, if not finus. 

There were many things to fill the 
e\e in the promenades between acts and 
much to divert. There was the youth 
who came full-p>anoplied in afternoon 
attire, with spats and striped trousers and 
e\'er\thing. But he had a good time, 
which was the real desideratum after 
all. But it indicated that there is quite 
a sartorial distance between Sacramento 
and San Francisco. 

Sun-kissed backs and legs and arms 
are now in vogue, their place in the 
scheme of things having been fixed hy 
the opera, which also is arbiter in many 
other things. Such as men arriving at 
the auditorium as hatless astheir women. 
Wearing their tuxedos neat, a,s it were. 
Why not? Why contribute to the de- 
linquency of the hat girl by pennitting 
her to make so much money that she 
aspires to fur coats? It's a.spiration that 
leads many a girl to the edge of folly. 
She hitches her wagon to a star, so to 
speak, and hitches once too often when 

the stag at eve has drunk his fill. 


THERE is, apparently, a most con- 
tagious epidemic of going places 
representing things. .\ headdress party 
where exquisite evening gowns were 
somewhat incongruously topped with 
frogs' heads or jjelican bills, to a pa jama 
pam- which smacks of Valentino fame 
but truly was no more serious than 
transplanting the Lido to Burlingamc. 
.Along the Riviera, quite the mast amus- 
ing m<xlc of entertaining is to give a 
pajama jMrty where P<iiret and Patou 
\ic with one another in designing the 
most gorgeous and flamb<iyant creations, 
which, after all, have evolved from 
that mast humble garment. Europeans 
adore these soirees. They create some- 
how, a <pirit of , what shall 

we call it? Informalit\' will do! \\\A 
the two hundred guests of the Edmund 
Lymans' the other night captured the 
thought. The Burlingame Country 
Club was turned into a replica of the 
famous Italian restirt and gay little 

The San Franciscan 


tables were placed under gayer umbrel- 
las, and in and out of the Club wan- 
dered a hundred Irene Bordonis (or 
near Irenes) in brilliant satin or me- 
tallic costume. 

Pardow Hooper did his bit ti) further 
the movement when he gave his annual 
baby party. The party, of course, took 
place at Pebble Beach, and those who 
motored down for the week-end slayed 
those well-known birds by also being 
there for the opening of the new and 
distinctly smart Pebble Beach Swim- 
ming Club. It was, to put it mildly, a 

successful week-end. 


IT has been more winters than we like 
to count since such a promising de- 
butante season has confronted us and 
already fifteen prospective "debs" have 
been named. The season has every 
promise of a gala one and has elated 
those of us who have found the past few 
years with its sluggish "oozing" out into 
society, very bourgeois. The first to 
make her bow was Marianna Casserly, 
the youngest daughter of Mrs. John 
Casserly, of San Mateo. Being early 
mough in the season for a garden party, 
the beautiful gardens of Mrs. Casserly's 
place were utilized, a the dansant was 
held. Several hundred came during the 
afternoon where the debutante greeted 
her mother's guests in a delightful white 
lace gown and carried a huge bouquet 
of orchids. In the evening she contin- 
ued in the process of coming out, at a 
large dinner given for the younger set. 
Now that the first affair is over, we 
await almost impatiently for the others 
to start things humming. There will be 
Eleanor Weir, daughter of Mr. and 
Mrs. William Weir, California Breu- 
ner, daughter of the John Breuners', 
Vail Jones, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. 
Webster Jones, and the Alexander Ham- 
iltons' daughter, Grace. Alma Walker, 
the daughter of the Clinton Walkers, 
of Piedmont, and the niece of Mrs. 
Willis Walker, will come out shortly 
and others are Agnes Clark, Elizabeth 
Ra}mond, Harriet Brownell, Genevieve 
Hart, Dorothy Mein and Alice East- 
land. With all this exceedingly lovely 
array things promise to be very divert- 


IT was learned with somewhat of a 
shock that the much looked for wed- 
ding of beautiful Idabelle Wheaton of 

Piedmont and George Tallant of Santa 
Barbara is to be a very simple and quiet 
affair. With the marble house of her 
aunt, Mrs. Edson Adams, as a setting 
and a host of lovely young maids and 
matrons waiting more or less expec- 
tantly for the bridal party to be named, 
everyone felt more or less let down, 
fulia Adams, Idabelle's cousin and com- 
panion to Europe each year, will be the 
only attendant. It is quite possible that 
upon considering whom she might 
choose for bridesmaids, the list became 
too voluminous to consider; for surely 
every large wedding among the Reign- 
ing Dynasty in the past few seasons has 
found Miss Wheaton among the brides- 

There is much happening in honor of 
that distinctively smart debutante, 
Frances Sherman, who has returned 
from a year and a half spent in Europe. 
Each night at the opera she was noted 
in her mother's (Mrs. Fred Sherman) 
box, looking quite as handsome as her 
very lovely parent. Mary Chickering, of 
Piedmont, gave a luncheon in her 
honor, Livvy Smith honored her at a 
dinner and Mrs. Florence Boardman 
Pulliam also entertained at luncheon. 
Many more parties have been planned. 

EVER since Mrs. Lydig Hoyt and 
Thelma Converse Morgan took to 
tripping the boards, the Reigning Dy- 
nasty has taken a kindly interest in any 
of its members that turn their attention 

For the past fortnight at Del Monte 
several of the Dynasty have been film- 
ing a picture with the background of 
old Missions and diverting hotels, and 
the minor roles filled by none other than 
Conway Tearle, Norman Kerry, Ri- 
cordo Cortez and Jackie Coogan, each 
a star in the cinema, down for a holiday 
and anxious to enter into the fun. 
Anita Reiners, of Pebble Beach, who 
has been one of the most popular mem- 
bers of the summer colony, was the 
lovely lady. Jack Dolman, of Prince- 
ton, vacationing at the Lodge, found 
himself the hero, and Steve Field, the 
villain. Mrs. Ada Murphy, of Pasa- 
dena, was a combined camera man and 
director under the guidance of Jack 
Coogan, Senior. Everyone joined in, 
lending rare old antiques, villas, or any- 
thing demanded to assist and the fa- 
mous stars were quite contented to have 

"extra" parts and bask in the glory of 
the novices. * * "^- 

A TRULY beautiful wedding took 
place in Piedmont not long ago, 
when Geraldine Gannon, the daughter 
of Mrs. Walter Gannon, became the 
bride of Dr. Sanford Larkey. It was 
rather pleasant after a flurry of tiger 
lilies and gold brocade or something 
equally subdued that has marked the 
decorative note of the large weddings 
of late, to get back to bowers and gar- 
lands of pink roses, lilies-of-the-valley 
and long blue sprays of delphinium. 

THAT was a happy idea of Mrs. 
James W. Reid of singing Joyce 
Kilmer's "Trees" at the ceremony at 
which the San Francisco Garden Club 
planted an oak tree in Memory Vale, 
Golden Gate Park, as a memorial to 
Willis Polk, San Francisco architect 
who died about a year ago. It has been 
so long since she has sung in public that 
her friends had forgotten that as Mae 
Sadler she had a lovely voice that prom- 
ised an operatic career had she chosen it. 
Mrs. William Hinckley Taylor, 
President of the Garden Club, was 
given a tribute, en passant, by James 
W. Reid, who introduced the speakers 
of the occasion. "The woman who had 
the vision to organize and support the 
Garden Club in the tasks it has assumed 
in beautifying San Francisco and en- 
virons," he characterized her, and he 
was enthusiastically applauded. Mrs. 
Polk, widow of the distinguished ar- 
chitect, was an appealing figure as she 
lifted the first spade of earth to bank 
at the roots of the gigantic oak. The 
Garden Club wanted a tree as a tribute 
to John McLaren of Golden Gate 
Park. To which the canny Scot replied, 
"Only over my dead body will it be 
done." The retort was obvious: "We 
hope that time will not come soon. 

month celebrated her twenty-first 
birthday. There was a cake with elec- 
tric lights instead of candles and bon- 
bons and bon mots. Shorb Steele, the 
son of the family, is but a few months 
older than Miss Peggy, who was adopted 
by the Steeles a few years ago and has 
in that time not only found an abiding 
place in their hearts but has endeared 
herself to the wide circle of friends of 
the Steele family. 

The San Franciscan 


New Moods 

wherein the Young Moderns Go Up-Town 

Bv Aline Kistler 

LESS than a year ago the young 
artists of San Francisco estab- 
lished the Modern Gallery in 
Montgomery Street where, in what was 
once a livery stable, they showed their 
work and invited criticism and comment 
for their departures in artistic expres- 
sion. Now, ten months after their first 
appearance, we find four of the original 
group of "young moderns" exhibiting 
uptown in the East West Gallery of the 
Women's Building, quite the most fre- 
quented show place in San Francisco. 

In this exhibit the work of Ruth Cra- 
vath, Parker L. Hall, Jacques Schnier 
and Ward Montague of the original 
Modern Gallery group is augmented by 
that of Enid Foster and Magnus A. 
Arnason. These six young artists, 
though known as sculptors, show paint- 
ings, wood carvings and line drawings 
as well as sculpture. 

A wide gamut of theme and treat- 
ment is ranged by the forty pieces 
shown but there is a bond of sympa- 
thetic outlook that makes the exhibit ho- 
mogeneous. As widely different things 
as ScHnier's "Marriage of Earth and 
Water" and Ward Montague's "Lotus 
Flower" are the product of similar at- 
titudes, the present day belief that the 
emotional concept must be intellectual- 
ized. So it is that we find representation 
dominated by abstraction even unto so- 
phisticated naivete. 

Such is the "modernism" of the 
youth of today. Intellectual ghosts ani- 
mating emotional form. Crystalliza- 
tions of an introvert world. 

The interest shown in this exhibit in- 
dicates that there is a growing response 
to these new art idioms for, with the 
exception of some of Mr. Arnason's 
work, practically all the pieces shown 
are far from classical in feeling. And 
even Mr. Arnason demonstrates his 
right to be classed with the other young 
moderns by the blase mechanism of pro- 
ducing abstract porcelain effect with 
deftly Ducoed plaster as in his "Prayer." 

It is significant that four of this group 
now monopolizing the artistic spotlight 




A wood carving in modern idiom by one of the 
young- moderns whose work .ittr-icted attention at 
the recent group showing in the East West Gallery. 



are the same "youngsters" who defied 
fate and the public less than a year ago 
by opening a gallery dedicated to new 
e.xperiments in art. 


LAST November people went to the 
opening of the Modern Gallery 
with tongue distended cheeks, curious 
but une.xpectant. They saw drawings, 
paintings, sculpture — all in unaccepted 
idioms. Many scoffed at presumptuous 
youth. Some were susceptible to the 
noveltj'. A few saw beauty in the 
freshly cast concepts. 

Today the work of these artists and 
others of similar ideals not only attracts 
general attention but receives serious 
consideration as indicative of the new 
trend of artistic expression. 

But, in spite of the partial acceptance 
given this type of work, people were 
startled when, at the opening of the 
present showing in the East West Gal- 
lery, Lucien Labaudt called the young 
artists "true traditionalists." 

Such sweeping acceptance was justi- 
fied only by Labaudt's explanation that 
he considered this phase of art the re- 
sult of the application of the eternal 
laws of art to the mood of today. He 
insisted that the basic principles of art 
that has become classic and that which 
now seems strangely new are the same. 

In this sense the artists working in 
the present day idiom are not artistic 
bolsheviks or revolutionists. It is only 
their means of expression that differs 
from that of the accepted old masters. 
The basis of true art remains the same. 

Art must ever be the safety valve of 
civilization and, as times and manners 
change, it is inevitable that the form of 
artistic expression shall change in both 
content and spirit while the underlying 
principles remain the same. 

So it is that this exhibit in the East 
West Gallery which has brought the 
"young moderns" uptown is not only 
an acknowledgment that the young ar- 
tists have something to say but it is also 
evidence that the San Francisco art pub- 
lic is keenly responsive to new moods 
and messages. 

The San Franciscan 


As Seen By Her 

are wonderful people! They 
invent golf, — eighteen holes 
of exquisite torture, — then they distill 
consolation for the agony. They wear 
kilts through all the rigors of a stern, 
northern winter, and still they remain 
among the most robust peoples of the 
earth. And now, right in our midst, 
there is a Scotchman who is making a 
fine art of furniture reproduction, and 
for the first time, at least to our humble 
knowledge, is not trying to fool anyone 
into the belief that he is purveying orig- 

In a little, unpretentious shop on the 
peninsula highway near Beresford, Dan 
Wallace, master artisan, has constructed 
a great deal of the French Normandy 
type furniture that is in the new Ah- 
wahnee Hotel in Yosemite Valley. As 
you enter his shop your eye is caught 
immediately by a long, narrow table, 
dignified in line and character with the 
quality that comes with hundreds of 
years' usage. Wallace chuckles when he 
is asked about it. 

"So you think that's old, do you? 
Well, it isn't even finished yet. It's all 
been done by hand, dry rot, foot-marks, 
discoloration and all. And done with 
just an axe and an adze, the way they 
built things in those days." 

The visitor's eye might then wander 
to a chair in the French Empire style, 
faded and mellow with age, only to be 
told that this particular piece has a few 
touches to be added before it can be de- 
livered to the customer as a mate to the 
original which stands next to it. 

Wallace is a graduate of a Glasi^ow 
college, an artist and an advocate of the 
making of reproductions as an art in it- 
self. He knows periods, the craftsman- 
ship of different times and peoples, and 
the processes of aging. The Persian fur- 
niture, forerunner of our Gothic style, 
designed for John Drum's residence on 
the roof of the Fairmont Hotel, is now 
under construction in Wallace's shop. 

NOT wishing to cast aspersions on 
so great an authority as Benjamin 
Franklin, kite flyer of no mean ability, 
we still beg to differ with his dictum 
that "It is hard for an empty bag to 
stand upright," since we have seen the 

hand-bags of all descriptions displayed 
by Leonard Moese of Paris at 279 Post 
Street. We stood enraptured before his 
window, fascinated by the variety of 
shapes, sizes and materials, richly glow- 
ing brocades, petit-point, intricately 
worked bead designs. Then there is the 
flashing brilliance of every sort of bag- 
top. Every taste can be satisfied, and 
if the particular bag isn't in stock, it can 
be made according to any selection de- 


TURNING off from the bustle, 
traflic policemen and honking horns 
of Grant Avenue the other day, we re- 
joiced once more in the oasis, the peace 
and quiet and the European flavor of 
the little blind alley that has been spared 
from the encroachments of modern 
commerce on the west side of the Ave- 
nue to be known as Tillman Place. 

There in the corner is Harry Dixon's 
workshop and display room. Down 
three or four steps, and a long, narrow 
room opens up, with every sort of cun- 
ningly devised and executed pieces of 
copper exhibited against warm patches 
of batik, or standing on fascinating 
chests and tables. Handwrought jewelry 
brightens one corner, bright blue tur- 
quoise against dull silver, the impris- 
oned flame of carnelian, and the dull 
fire of opal. The whole room is domi- 
nated by the richness of an oil painting 
of the desert, steeped in sun and vibrat- 
ing in a riot of color. It has been 
painted by Maynard Dixon, the copper 
worker's brother. 

At the extreme end is the Temple 
Bar Tea Room, peopled by gay little 
Chinese princesses in disguise, known as 
waitresses in our prosaic language. The 
original bar is still there, innocuous but 
complete in detail, shiny brass rail and 
all. It is not necessary to say more of 
the quality of the meals than that a long 
line of hungry humanity stands patiently 
waiting for an empty seat every noon. 
A most up-to-date and efficient circu- 
lating library is at the entrance, so that 
waiting itself becomes a unique pleasure 
under these circumstances. 

Perhaps the most attractive of all is 
the Old Book Shop. Books from floor 
to ceiling, old, worn, early editions, 
luxurious special bindings, item after 

item of real interest tempts the passerby 
to come in and browse. And he is un- 
disturbed, too. He is greeted by a fel- 
low book-lover, and treated in the spirit 
of true kinship. But if he can tear him- 
self away from the temptations inside 
these walls, he is no true bibliomaniac, 
and he has the strength of an unshorn 


NOW that our winter season, the 
best possible golf weather, is ap- 
proaching, we look with eager eyes at 
the newest costume for gamboling 
(gambling?) on the green, displayed by 
May G. Walsh at 453 Post Street. In 
addition to a big stock of sweaters and 
skirts, there are several jersey outfits in 
which one could lay one's fourth putt 
dead to the pin to perfection. The skirt 
is solid color, but the top jersey has en- 
trancing stripes running diagonally or 
vertically, guaranteed to produce the 
perfect streamline figure. 

Then there are some tweed coat- 
dresses which have an undeniably British 
accent. The finishing touch for these is 
a leather flower to be won in a come- 
hither fashion on the shoulder, and a 
belt to match. 

An entirely new model which Miss 
W^alsh has brought back from the effete 
East is a three-piece suit consisting of a 
velveteen skirt, a long velveteen coat 
and a silk blouse of a lighter shade than 
the coat and skirt, all three highly to be 


EVEN if the "Do Your Christmas 
Shopping Early" slogan is still dor- 
mant, we have decided to beat the gong, 
urged into this unseemly haste by some 
novelties shown by Magnin's, no one of 
which would make an unwelcome bulge 
in our patched but robust hosiery on De- 
cember 25th. Quite a collection of golf 
watches, entirely new at least to us, may 
be had. These are made to resemble 
golf balls, somewhat flattened, and are 
attached to straps which may be fastened 
to any unoccupied button in the sports- 
man's attire. 

Ever since we saw the luggage stand- 
ing nonchalantly about in the leather de- 
partment, we have had an itch for 
roughing it at Claridge's or the Ritz. 

(Continued to Page 32) 

The San Franciscan 

Isadora Duncan 

/// mentors of a great artist and a Sait Franciscan. 

Photograph by Steichen. 

The San Franciscan 

B. I. and B. I. C 

Will They Disprove the Theory That What Goes Up Must Come Downi 

THE amazing phenomenon of the 
consistent and prolonged rise in 
the market value of the two Gi- 
annini stocks, the Bank of Italy and the 
Bancitaly Corporation, on the hoards of 
the San Francisco Stock & Bond Ex- 
change during the last three years has 
shed its last vestige of localism and now 
appears to be engaging the best attention 
of some investors and more speculators 
on the big Exchanges in New York. A 
grand total of 172,900 of Bancitaly 
shares were bought and sold in New 
York alone last week, and the enthusi- 
astic followers of these stocks in San 
Francisco, including both Native Sons 
and a distinct international element, are 
now able to get some idea at seven 
o'clock in the morning, from the quo- 
tation boards of their favorite brokers, 
of what their stock is likely to accom- 
plish in a day of trading on the local 

Up to the present time this has been 
perfectly simple; for here is a stock that 
apparently can only go one way — up- 
ward. In spite of the not infrequent 
vociferations of Amadeo Pietro Gian- 
nini that his stocks must be considered 
on a cold and tangible basis of assets and 
earning power, and that he wished to go 
on record as quite firmly opposed to 
speculation in either Italy stock and, in 
fact, that he was prepared to resort to 
extreme measures to keep the market 
prices down within reasonable levels, 
Bank of Italy and Bancitaly stocks have 
never had a real market set-back. 

The swift expansion and sentimental 
domination of the Bancitaly Corpora- 
tion reads like a tale from Marco Polo. 
Although only organized in 191 9 with 
a paid up capital of $1,500,000 it has 
now evolved into one of the world's 
largest investment trusts and, chrysalis- 
like, has finally emerged into a dazzling 
entity having a capital investment of 
over $217,000,000, and its stock has 
taken wing and soared accordingly. It 
took its founders about five years to 
realize the possibilities that were present 
psychologicall)' and practically to sell 
stock and with the proceeds thereof to 

By Covington Janin 

buy diversified investments. But once 
realized, the selling of stock was ac- 
complished by an expedient so simple 
that it appears somewhat like a man 
raising himself by his proverbial boot- 
straps; stockholders were allowed to 
subscribe to a limited number of new 
shares at a price substantially below 
what they could, if they so wished, sell 
them for in the open market, the double 
effect of which was to greatly facilitate 
the sale of new stock and to raise the 
value of the existing stock which car- 
ried this right. 

* * 4 

AIDED very material 1)- by the tre- 
mendous and unprecedented bull 
market of 1924-27, the public was in- 
duced, and indeed almost demanded in 
two years to intrust some $200,000,000 
to Giannini for reinvestment in his 
chosen list of widely separated banks, 
corporations and foreign governments. 
So pleased with his work, moreover, 
were his stockholders that in spite of his 
plea for conservatism to replace the wild 
bidding for his stock in the market, the 
public now apparently places the value 
of Bancitaly Corporation at some 
$208,000,000, more than its actual 
stated book value. 

Bancitaly stock was daily contribut- 
ing a pyrotechnic display to the stock 
market and had risen precipitously about 
120 points in less than 3 months. The 
more sober-minded of the stock market 
intelligentsia were inquiring if, really, 
this was not a little too much of a good 
thing, and San Francisco bankers gen- 
erally were beginning to refuse to fur- 
ther augment their brokerage loans on 
Bancitaly stock. At this apparent crisis 
A. P. Giannini gave out a statement 
which said, in effect, "I notice with re- 
gret that an undue amount of specula- 
tion surrounds the stock . . . and I pro- 
pose to stop this at any cost ... I have 
determined to authorize and sell new 
stock in the market until the buying be- 
comes reasonable, and I shall keep on 
authorizing and selling stock until this 
is accomplished." Bancital)- checked its 
pace momentarily, and the market tur- 

moil calmed; but soon the stock began 
to climb again, more slowly, however. 
It was becoming more and more evident 
that buying orders were being met with 
a new volume of stock, from whence 
no one knew. 

Some time later Mr. Giannini called 
a directors' meeting for the purpose of 
authorizing the issuance of 100,000 
shares of new stock. The open market 
price at the time was about $340. A 
certain percentage of the stock was to 
be added to the treasury to be sold at 
the discretion of the company at not less 
than $350 a share. The rest, 38,916 
shares, at Mr. Giannini's request, was 
to be issued to him personally at $300 a 
share — $40 below the current market — 
"to return to persons from whom he had 
borrowed stock, to hold the market 
down," or itt other words to cover his 
own short position in the stock market. 

THAT this position was caused by 
Giannini's over-sale of stock to pro- 
tect his stockholders from excessive mar- 
ket fluctuations detracts no whit from 
the perfectly astonishing fact that these 
stockholders voluntarily agreed to forego 
a very substantial cash sum in order to 
help out a man whom they unanimously 
felt to be their friend. All stockholders 
legally had the right to reap a portion 
of the additional $40 a share discount 
on the new stock, yet such was their be- 
lief in their president's sincerity that out 
of 10,000 stockholders only 43 refused 
his plea and demanded their stockhold- 
ers' rights. As far as we know this con- 
stitutes the very last word in capitalistic 

What will be the final end of specu- 
lation in Bancitaly stock, what will be 
its final point of stabilization must still 
represent the merest guess. It is silly to 
endlessly repeat, in face of actual sales 
quotations, the platitude that, "it can't 
go up forever." Its rise is in a measure 
sound, and perfectly capable of logical 
appreciation. It is partly founded on ac- 
tual accomplishment, somewhat on po- 
tentialities, which are the very essence 

(Continued to Page ll) 

The Sax F r a n c i s c a ?< 

The Bookstall 

Being Reflections and Opinions on Some Current Works 
Bv A\'iLLiAM Ahlefeld Flanagan 

THOSE who have followed with 
satisfaction the past work of 
Vicente Blasco Ibanez, will 
find again, in his newest novel, The 
Mob, nothing to disapfwint them — or 
nothing to increase their esteem. With 
Ibanez, it is probable that this condition 
shall never change. Looking back over 
his career, one is struck with the fact 
that he incessantly writes propaganda, 
and uses the masses for both his force 
and his color. With but one or two ex- 
ceptions he has never shown the merest 
touch of originality, nor attained the 
grace of genuine eloquence. In The 
Shadow of the Cathedral he came near 
to this high level of writing, and in 
Blood atul Sand, and to some extent 
The Pope of the Sea, he had flashes of 
fine color-writing. But for the most 
part the supreme tones are lacking, and 
his work has no voice ; what he says is 
only an echo, the oft-repeated cries of 
the day. The reason is not far to seek. 
He has not been able to disassociate the 
ideas of the moment; for him what is 
a commonplace among certain elements 
of fwople (his own element) becomes 
a passion and a truth. But to make 
original disassociations, which is the true 
test of creative intelligence, has been 
for him an impossibility. The fact that 
he continues to see life with but one 
color, argues nothing whatever against 
him as a writer; but when a writer de- 
cides to do this he should be careful not 
to draw a knave instead of a king. Both 
religious and scientific thinkers have 
agreed, through innumerable genera- 
tions, that the mob is fickle; yet the 
voice of his work is nothing else than 
that of this same fickle crowd, yelping 
the desires of the hour. The Mob is a 
vivid and interesting book, and Ibanez 
writes again with the colorful and dra- 
matic force that characterizes his work; 
but also he again sells his soul to the 
mob, and un-artistically finds his chief 
relish in the flare of sensationalism. 

The Mob, by Vicente Blasco Ibanez; 
E. P. Button Co., price $2.50. 

Glenwav Wfscott, the winner of Harper's 
Prize Novel Competition. His prize-winning 
novel, which published August tw-ent>--fifth, 
is entitled "The Grandmothers." 

ANOTHER collection of stories 
has been compiled by Charles 
Wright Gray, this time under the title 
of "Hosses". As .Mr. Gray says in his 
dedication, horses are creatures of great 
variability, personalities to be considered 
from many points of view. But there is 
a considerable difference between stories 
whose merit lies in their dealing with 
good points of horse-flesh or horseman- 
ship, and stories whose merit lies in their 
being fine stories. 

It is a common failure when writing 
of dogs, cats, and horses, to write so 
that the essence of the story is tcxi wholly 
one of sentiment. .And because of our 
love for these animals we read such 
stories in deep satisfaction, oblivious of 
all the angles of bad writing that might 
be apparent to a careful reader. The 
first stor}- in this book, by Will Com- 
fort, is one altogether of that sort; done 
in sentiments of the ordinary and e.\- 

pected, sure to please a jockey, a senti- 
mental horse owner, or the hired girl; 
but just as certain to displease the sensi- 
tive artist or the analytical reader. It is 
a shame that such an excellent title, 
"The Outside of a Horse," could not 
have been properly treated. The tale in- 
cluded by Zane Grey was of a much 
better grade, being replete with bits of 
horse knowledge, and more capably 
written. Though here, too, its being in- 
cluded in a special selection of stories is 
permissible only on the grounds of what 
the stopi" dealt with, and not because of 
any particular literan" value. The storv' 
by William Rose Benet, which is done 
in poetr)' and should not have lieen in- 
cluded in a prose anthology, is not with- 
out merit; but it is far inferior to what 
the compiler has evidently believed. One 
can see in it the evidence t|jat Mr. Benet 
is both clever and romantic, but nothing 
else. The poem is mechanical, and his 
sensibility is shallow and unoriginal; 
neither his tones nor his color seem to be 
his own, and his sense of effect falls 
weakly into a clever approximation. 
"The Brown Outlaw," by Victor Shawe, 
is likewise an over-rated story, undeserv- 
ing for a special collection ; it is one ap- 
pealing only to humane emotions, and 
its literary treatment is decidedly me- 
diocre. In fact, one may skip through 
this volume quickly if he limits himself 
to the stories of literary merit. He 
might possibly be satisfied with Donn 
Byrne's storv', although it is by no 
means of consequence; he will undoubt- 
edly like Arthur Ficke's poem, but here 
again is something that has no excuse 
for appearing in a collection of prose; 
there are perhaps only two tales in the 
volume that belong there unquestion- 
ably: the one by Whyte Melville, and 
the one by James Stevens. .And there 
are a great many horse stories exceed- 
ingly finer than the most of these, that 
have never appeared in a collection. But 
in this latter instince the compiler is 
often up against it, not being able to 
obtain rights on the stories he prefers. 
Nor do I want to discredit the work 
(Contimued to Page 29) 

The San Franciscan 


The Powers That Direct the Destiny of San Francisco 
Aniadeo P. Giannini 

AN ancient story tells us that 
while Rome was burning Nero 
fiddled — the flippant gesture 
of a dissolute monarch without thought 
for his magnificent city or how it was 
to be rebuilt. 

In April, 1906, San Francisco 
burned. While flames swept the city 
Amadeo P. Giannini, whose ancestors 
for many centuries lived in the land 
over which the careless Nero ruled so 
long ago, was calmly, capably, practi- 
cally carrying forward work and plans 
to rebuild a San Francisco greater than 
the one the flames were consuming. 
Strange are the contrasts and irony of 
the fates! One man turned his back 
upon his doomed city. Another man — 
bred of the same race — many, many 
years later on the other side of the world, 
saw his city burning and while the 
flames raged visioned a city greater than 
the one being laid in ashes. 

But to get on with the details of this 
bit of San Francisco's history. At the 
time of the earthquake Giannini's bank, 
the Bank of Italy, established in 1 904, 
was the baby bank of the city. By noon 
of April 1 8th Giannini had succeeded 
in making his way to the bank building 
at Clay and Montgomery Streets. A 
block away the fire was raging. Gian- 
nini commandeered two teams and wag- 
ons; loaded the contents of his vaults 
and a supply of all forms necessary for 
doing business into them and took his 
treasures to his San Mateo home. 

The rest of us (assuming that you, 
the reader, have personal memories of 
the fire) were for several days quite 
forsaken of our sanity and wits. We 
ran frantically hither and yon, salvag- 
ing and dragging to safety all manner 
of absurd and useless objects. We la- 
mented loudly and bewailed at great 
length the loss of our homes, businesses 
and possessions. Did Giannini stand thus 
wringing his hands and cursing the gods 
of ill fortune? He did not. He wrote 
a letter to each of his depositors, telling 
them that a goodly portion of their 

By ZoE A. Battu 

money was immediately available and 
offering them loans with which to re- 
establish their businesses. A number of 
the letters reached the persons to whom 
they were addressed in spite of the pre- 
vailing confusion. While the ruins of 
North Beach were still smouldering, 
Giannini set up temporary offices near 
the waterfront. The Bank of Italy was 
the first bank in the city to resume oper- 
ations after the fire, and North Beach 
was the first section of the city to rise 
from its ashes, largely as a result of 
Giannini's cool-headed, direct action in 
the crisis. 

Foresight of quite a different nature 
was displayed by the man in the panic 
of 1907. While traveling through the 
East, his uncanny sense of future events 
told him that a general business depres- 
sion was at hand. Returning to San 
Francisco, Giannini gathered into his 
vaults all the gold upon which he could 
lay his hands. Conditions got so bad 
that the banks would only pay up to 
$100 on any withdrawal. Gold and 
silver were at that time still the uni- 
versal currency of the West and the 
notion persisted that paper money was 
a worthless, uncertain substitute for 
metal money. Giannini's bank did not 
have to pay in paper money; it paid in 
gold straight through the crisis. The 
psychological effect of this upon a pan- 
icky public was magical. Scores of new 
depositors poured gold into the Bank of 
Italy vaults faster than it could be paid 
out. Giannini again capitalized on cir- 
cumstances that to other men were 

tragedy and disaster. 

^ ■ * * -* 

WE may be wont to think that this 
financial seer was born in the 
banking business, but he got into it al- 
most by accident. The first years of his 
business life were spent in the whole- 
sale produce business, when at the age 
of 12 years he entered the business of 
his stepfather, L. Scatena. He was still 
attending grammar school and though 
he was on the waterfront every morn- 

ing at dawn and worked after school, 
he stood at the head of all his classes. 
Within a few months of his graduation 
from grammar school he quit and took 
a business course at a local business col- 

At the age of 19 Giannini was a 
partner in the business his resourceful- 
ness had doubled and trebled. He en- 
tered upon a period of further expand- 
ing the house, resulting in a series of 
bitterly competitive battles and price- 
cutting wars. But Giannini was a 
match for all his rivals. Old-timers on 
the waterfront retain vivid memories of 
his shrewdness in buying, his strategy in 
selling, his ability to gauge prices. There 
was no one in the district who could 
take a customer away from him; none 
who could catch him unawares; none 
whose motives and tactics he could not 
quickly penetrate and shatter their plans 
before their eyes. He emerged from 
these battles the acknowledged leader of 
the San Francisco wholesale produce 
business. At 3 I he sold out his interests 
in the commission house, planning to re- 
tire and devote himself to the manage- 
ment of several large estates that had 
been entrusted to him. 

Giannini had been elected to the 
board of directors of a bank patronized 
largely by Italians. The financial field 
made quick appeal to his imagination. 
He studied the bank with which he was 
connected and banking in general. 
Shortly, he proposed that certain im- 
provements and changes be made in the 
institution's business methods. His fel- 
low directors were cautious, conserva- 
tive members of the old school. They 
were horrified at his ideas; pronounced 
them heresy that would lead to ruin. 
"Very well, gentlemen, I'll start a bank 
of my own," quoth Giannini. 

He started the Bank of Italy. From 
its first day to this the organization's 
history has been one of steady growth. 
As Giannini began to create and ex- 
tend his Statewide system of branch 

(Continued to Page 30) 

The San Franciscan 

No More Parades 

(Continued from Page 7) 

inted Freedom's banners on America's 
ires, is stifled now by asinine profes- 
inal flag-waving — Standardized Pa- 
.riotism. Theology, by which once men 
were pointed to the heights, has been 
dragged from high places and put on a 
commercial, paying basis — Standardized 
Religion. The stream of pure, clear 
thought which had its source high in the 
mountains of sound learning, now is 
polluted by an avalanche of unrelated 
unpurposed facts — Standardized Educa- 
tion. Puritanism unleashed and Calvin- 
ism revivified have moulded into rigid 
law almost all things intolerant and 
absurd — Standardized Morality. Joy 
and Free Spirit are dead; and likewise 
mirth and spontaneous gaiety. And of- 
fered in their stead, nay, foisted on us 
all, is something which no man of merit 
can for long abide: Standardized Hap- 

There are no more parades! 
* * s 

The Bookstall 

(Continued from Page 25) 

which Mr. Gray has done in compiling 
this volume, and his other volumes of 
stories. Such books are usually compiled 
under the necessity of appealing to popu- 
larity, ana certainly he has succeeded in 
giving us entertainment. The book is 
undoubtedly one that all horse lovers 
will enjoy, and Mr. Gray is materially 
helping the literary situation in general, 
by trying to increase the popularity of 
short stories in book form. If it has 
seemed that I have been too hard upon 
this collection, is is only because a critic 
is supposed to judge literature, and not 

"Hosses", compiled by Charles Wright 
Gray, Henry Holt Co., price $2.50. 

THE Queen's Gate Mysiery,^y}\eT- 
bert Adams, is one of the conven- 
tional sort, with numerous possibilities 
for good melodrama, but so amateur- 
ishly written that the possibilities are all 
lost. It will satisfy the mentally youth- 
ful reader. 

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Frank Carroll Giffen 

Teacher of Singing 


Tclfphinif Ghaystonk ^^20 
^y Appoiuftnejif Only 



J^-sovTH: or SAN mateo . 

The San Franciscan 


(Continued from Page 26) 

banks, there arose a mighty storm of 
criticism. Nothing like it had ever been 
done before. The man was walking on 
thin ice. He, his ideas and branch banks 
would crash, bringing panic, loss and 
desolation to the depositors. The crash 
has not yet come. The Bank of Italy 
system now numbers 383 branch banks. 
Its total resources are $675,716,343. 
There are 1,140,394 depositors, the 
largest number of any bank in the coun- 

This man Giannini is the father of 
two great financial systems. He has 
made San Francisco and the West pow- 
ers in the money markets of the world 
and the source of some of the most 
constructive financing that history has 
ever seen. He has created individual and 
collective wealth for the people of a 
great State. He has pioneered in form- 
ing standards and policies for financiers 
the world over to follow. What sort of 
a man is it that can do these things? Is 
he, indeed, a man — or a remote, imper- 
sonal, machine-mind, barricaded behind 
the millions he piles one upon the other? 

No, Giannini is guarded by no crew 
of opinionated flunkies. You do not have 
to wander through a maze of red tape 
to arrive confused in the presence of a 
"Great Man". Giannini is open, readily 
approachable, democratic to all who may 
have business with him. You state your 
business. He talks rapidly — very rapidly, 
but every word, every idea, is as clean- 
cut, sharp and exact as pieces of steel 

stamped out by some machine. 

#* * 

AND strange is this fact — this man 
Giannini, who has created mil- 
lions, who handles them daily, is not 
himself a man of wealth, as wealth is 
reckoned today. His personal fortune is 
placed at somewhere around $250,000 
— a modest sum in comparison with the 
colossal fortunes of the Wall Street 
money kings, with the wealth of the 
heads of the automobile, railroad, steel, 
oil and other industrial enterprises. He 
asks simply, "When a man has enough 
money to provide himself and family 
with every comfort and necessity of life 
and to assure himself against want, what 
more does he need?" 

Giannini has always operated his 
great financial enterprises with the basic 
idea of making money for his depositors 
and stockholders. The Bank of Italy 

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Fur illustrated booklets and further details ask any steainship or 
ticket agent, or zvrite to 


548 S. Spring Street 

2 Pine Street 

10 Hanover Square 

The San Franci 


and Bancitaly Corporation are so or- 
ganized and run that no one person or 
group can gain a controlling interest and 
dictate their policies for their personal 

In some three years Giannini will he 
sixty years old, at which time he declares 
he will retire. But will her He retired 
once before. There is open speculation 
in Western financial circles as to what 
new worlds Giannini will turn to when 
he "retires". 


B. I. and B. I. C. 

(Continued frnni P.igf 24) 

of speculation, somewhat on a distinct 
suspicion of vast hidden earnings, and 
very largely upon the intense enthusiasm 
of a class of people whose implicit be- 
lief in their idol, Mr. A. P. Giannini, 
in reality sets the market pace. 

Earnest statisticians will tell \()u with 
indubitable accuracy that investment 
trust stocks usually sell at from 15 to 
20 times of their normal earnings, while 
Bancitaly, apparently earning money 
now at the rate of $4.50 or less per 
share, already sells for 25 times this 
amount. Its present position seems ob- 
viously vulnerable, perhaps directly in 
line for a sustained period of decline — 
these are things for the future. One 
thing only is certain, and that is that 
here you can't get anywhere by a simple 
perusal of available facts. A friend of 
ours appears to have discovered the near- 
est answer to the whole situation. 
"What," says he, "is the use of figuring 
this Bancitaly stock when you can't even 
pronounce its name?" 











Sent on Request 
No Obligation 


Investment ^^^Yl 
Securities K/ V^U 



Jan francittt 


If there is one enterprise 
on earth that the quitter 
should leave alone, it is 
advertising. Advertisins 
does not jerk — it pulls. It 
begins gently at first, but 
the pull is steady. It in- 
creases day by day, year 
by year, until it exerts an 
irresistible power. 


Rtiss Building Kc^Arny 4479 

The San Franciscan 


Hollywood Plaza Hotel 

Hollywood's Finefl 
Vine Street and Hollywood Blvd. 

CHAS. DANZIGER, ^Managing THriclor 

October 6, 7, 8 


Thursday, Friday, Saturday Evenings 
Oct. 13, 14, 15, 20, 21, 22 

Saturday Matinees Oct. 1 5 and 22 



in which G. B. S. lampoons the drama 
critics ! 


Warren Lister, Curtis Arnai.e, Barrie 
O'Daniei 5, Lee Meral, Etc. 


of San Francisco 
SEASON 1927-28 

Community Playhouse 

Sutter and Mason Sts. 

Good Things to Come: 

"The Hero" "Goat Song" 

"The Wisdom Tooth" 

"Nero" "The Tempest" 

"Young Woodley" 

— and other great plays 

Prices: Evgs., 75c to S1.50. Mats. 50c and 75c. 
Subscription Bks. (510) Save You 33 1/3% 

As Seen By Her 

(Continued from P.ige 22) 

.A night of emptiness, sleep and hl.ick 


Pigskin, tortoise, lizard skin, every kind 

of leather made into ever}' conceivable 

shape for beauty and convenience in 

travel. Verily we now understand why 

girls leave home. 

These are only a few of the man}' 
alluring novelties, including tooled 
leather sewing kits, parchment book- 
covers, picture frames and sets of dic- 
tionaries in various languages uniformly 
bound, reposing in stands all their own, 
just big enough to look right on a desk 
or table. 


THE Primrose House, a New York 
beautif}'ing concern, has established 
its first branch on the Pacific Coast at 
127 Grant Avenue. This establishment 
is the creme de la creme in cosmetic art, 
and specializes in a form of facial treat- 
ments which are designed to mold the 
human face in the same wa}' that a 
sculptor molds inanimate clav. A full 
line of accessories to the feminine toi- 
lette are available here, all made by the 
Primrose House, whose representative at 
the new shop instructs niadame in the 
most effective way of making the best 
of her natural gifts. 


THEN, when madame emerges ra- 
diant from behind the bright taffeta 
curtains of the cosmetic salon, she ma\' 
walk just across the hall and be most 
artistically photographed, while she is 
still at her best, by Dorothy Moore. And 
then she can feed the inner man delec- 
tably for either luncheon, tea or dinner 
at the Loggia Tea Room, whose en- 
trance is hut a step or two awa\'. 
^ « « 

BLf'r shiHild madame wish to meet 
her husband for dinner downtown 
(and why not, pra\'?), we suggest that 
she go to the Palace Hotel with him. 
There she will find everything to her 
liking, and so will the old man. If she 
goes once on this recommendation, she 
will go again of her own volition. 

Jho Zatuccd enxranp« 
— kiio=ii:ii round the wortd 

Incomparable Chocolates 

for those who seek the Highw.iys 
and Byways for the unusual 


Priced from $^ 

DeLuxe Assortments — $5, :f6, $7, 

$8 and $10 the pound 



Their Home Has Been 


Won't you build a new Infant 
Shelter for them? 


Headquarters— 2030 Palace Hotel 

Endorsed by The Community CKest 

and San Franctsco Endorsement 


(Space by CoMrlcsv The San Franciscan) 

The San Franciscan 
[ a J 




Camera Portraits 

Studio: Shreve Buildinc 
Telephone 210 Post Street 

Kearny 6181 





3> ■ 1 S> 


8- 1 T T 

Classes at 
San Mateo 



of the DANCE 


1373 Post Street, San Francisco 
Telephone Wahmc 823 

Etude in Ugliness 

(t'-intinufJ from P.ige lo) 

Mil's buzzed against the screen at the 

The doctor stayed and stayed. The 
neighbors ran in and out. Something 
was wrong. The neighbor women had 
talked all day in whispers. Now it was 
late at night and they were still whis- 
pering. Stephen grew afraid. The 
frogs in the marsh were croaking. 
Strange dogs had invaded the cellar and 
they howled desperately. Through the 
closed door of his mother's room came 
a harrowing noise. It seemed to pene- 
trate the very foundation of the house 
and re-echo itself from the walls. The 
house was saturated with this horrible, sometimes a rattle, sometimes a 
groan, something unnamable. The 
neighbors took bread and ham from the 
pantry and ate, whispering anecdotes 
between bites. Stephen understood thpt 
his mother was dying. He went to the 
door of the sick room and opened it 
cautiously. He saw the doctor who 
scowled at the bed. Other figures stood 
about the bed in silence. The thing on 
the bed seemed eyeless. Its big cav- 
ernous mouth was open. Stephen was 
puzzled. He had not remembered his 
mother with such a big mouth. 

Hours of waiting, hours of whisper- 
ing, hours filled with strange noises and 
tears. These all passed, with the night 
as though ashamed in the light of 
dawn. The day came with nothing to 
do. Another day and still another. 
Then a funeral. The white church, a 
black coffin, a crowd of people of no 
color at all. Everyone was dressed up 
as for church. His mother lay ashen 
and withered in the black box. She had 
her best white waist on. She had saved 
it for years. It was made of lace. Ste- 
phen cried. He didn't know why but 
the waist was the saddest part of it all. 

"Kiss your mother, Stephen. Kiss her 
good-bye," someone sobbed. 

He tried. He could not. He shook 
his head. "I can't." 

"You can't," sharply. 

"Don't make me touch it," he begged, 

Suddenly, everyone hated him. 

Clods of earth were falling in the 
grave. Their falling produced a hollow 
sound. Another dreary procession back. 

Uprooted. He had to sit still while 

(Continued to Page 34) 

525 puffer ^frccf 


Period Furniture 

Objets d'art 

7^' £t. Cofonef 


Old and New 

542 Ramona Street 

Phone P. A. 1960 

The San Franciscan 






PHONE 634 

(Continued from Preceding Page) 

people discussed him. There was no 
use in speaking. One place was as un- 
desirahle as another. There was no 
place for him anywhere. The Orphans' 
Home was an unpleasant name. The 
grocer's house was full of work. There 
was no need in making a choice. It 
would be made for him. People asked 
him wh\- he did not talk. How could 
one talk when one had seen somebody 

STEPHEN rode on the high seat of 
a wagon beside a man who chewed 
tobacco. They passed through several 
small towns. Each town was built 
around a general merchandise store and 
at each of these stores they would stop 
while the man who drove the wagon 
talked to a friend of his. The man 
talked and spat and argued. No one 
seemed to know that Stephen was on 
his way to the Orphans' Home. It 
seemed strange to him that they did not 
know. If they knew they were not con- 
cerned about it. Perhaps they deemed 
it a good place. Maybe it was a nice 
place. But somehow Stephen felt cer- 
tain that it was not a nice place. He 
was filled with fear of it. Until the 
moment he saw the grey buildings of 
his sordid destination loom upon the 
horizon he had believed something 
would save him from his awful fate. 
Perhaps the driver of the wagon would 
let him ride with him every day. Maybe 
something would happen. But maybe 
the Orphans' Home was a nice place. 

He looked for reassurance in the face 
of the matron. He smiled sickly at her. 
She did not see him. She asked him 
questions without looking at him. He 
waited alone in a corridor for someone 
to approach him and tell him what to 
do and where to go. He waited for 
hours. His hands grew hot and moist 
and his head grew dizzy. He did not 
want to cry. He walked to the window 
and looked out upon the hills beyond. 
The\' were so far away and so mysteri- 
ous it made one very sad. The quiet 
road stretched out lazily. One could 
see a lonely horseman riding in the dusk, 
a woman with a child, and there was a 
sound of distant cow-bells. The world 
from the window seemed to be a big, 
sleeping grey monster. No prickings 
from his hot, dirty hand could ever 
wake it. It was too big for him. No, 
he was too small. 

( To Be Continued Next Month) 

"Betty K[ghk 



Near Pierce 

Fillmore 17^1 


of genuine 

'Polo Cloth" 


Woven of pure camel's 
hair . . . soft as swansdown 
. . . thick and warm but 
astonishingly light in 
weight . . . wrinkleproof 
. . . showerproof ... al- 
most indestructible . . . 
and beyond question the 
most beautiful overcoat 
obtainable in Europe or 
America today. 


Six-Store Buying Power 

SINCE 1870 


Riding Boots - Polo Sticks - Riding Crops 


2117 MARKET 2123 








'\ti %Aii FRAI^CIACC 

First Anniversary Number. 


Price 25 Cents 



^/fivc TintG/ (M^^^df 

Now that there arc just a few short weeks before Christ 
mas, remember the last minute rush and avoid' it by 
rending this page, as no Caesar ever rent a scroll, from its se- 
cure hinges and jot down a friend's name, your name, or any- 
body's name and dash hither and yon, in the manner of a high- 
school boy, in search of the nearest mail box and we shall see 
that you or your friend receives that mentor which differen- 
tiates a cultivated San Franciscan from a boring nobody. 


One Year of ^'THE SAN FRANCISCAN" for $2.50 

The San Franciscan 
Sharon Bldg. 

San Francisco, Calif. 

Send The San Franciscan for one year to 




If you wish to remit with 
order please attach check; if 
not bill will be forwarded to 


Address . 



November 8, Tuesday Evening, at 
the Community Theatre, Easton 
Kent. Tenor, and Michel Penha, 

November id, Thursday Evening, at 
the Scottish Rite Auditorium, A/ex- 
ander Brailowsky (Elwyn Series.) 

November 23, Wednesday Evening, 
at the Scottish Rite Auditorium, 
Edward Johnson. (Elwyn Series.) 

November 21, Monday Afternoon. 
Fairmont Ballroom, Nina Morgana- 
(Seckels Series.) 

November 24, 25, Thursday and Fri- 
day Evenings, and November 27, 
Sunday Afternoon, The Florentine 
Choir. (Healy attraction.) 

December i. Friday Evening, Civic 
Auditorium, Lawrence Tibbett, (Op- 
penheimer attraction.) 

November 13, 18, 20, 27, afternoons, 
Curran Theatre, San Francisco 
Symphony . 

The Theatre 

The Alcazar: Pigs. They've been ill 
but are getting along nicely. 

The Columbia: Repertoire season 
with Marjorie Rambeau. 

The Curran: The Madcap with the 
yodeling Mitzi. 

The Lurie: Hit the Deck. A singin' 
and a dancin". 

President: Why Men Leave Home. 
It won't hurt to find out. 


California: Long runs of feature 

St. Francis: Les Miserables. Victor 

Hugo's classic rehashed. 
Warfield: Whether you like it or not, 

a new program weekly. 
Granada: Ditto. 
Imperial: Ditto again. 

Beaux Arts Galerie: November 2 
to 16: Paintings by Otis Oldfield. 
November 17 to 30: Paintings by 
Maynard Dixon. 

California School of Fine Arts: 
Starting November 15: Twenty- 
five water colors by Sergey Scher- 

Crock of Gold: Drawings, wood 
blocks and etchings by Howard 

East-West Gallery of Fine Arts: 
To November 15. Paintings by 
Diego Rivera. From November 16: 
International exhibition of prints 
by members of the Chicago Society 
of Etchers. 

Modern Gallery: November i to 
15: Paintings and drawings by 
Rudolf Hess. 

Nineteen-Ninety California 
Street: Paintings by Trevor Had- 
don, R.B.A. 

Persian Art Centre: Persian fine 
arts from the collection of Dr. Ali- 
Juli Khan. 

San Francisco Society of Women 
Artists: At the Heger Building, 
November 7 to 19: Holiday sales 
exhibition of work by members of 
the society. 

WoRDEN Gallery: Paintings by Cal- 
ifornia artists. Etchings and mezzo- 

Dining and Dancing 

The Mark Hopkins: The Peacock 
Room. THE place to dine and 

Tait's-at-the-Beach: On Sloat 
Boulevard. San Francisco's "differ- 
ent " restaurant. 

The Saint Francis: The Garden 
Room. Where the smart people en- 

Cafe Marquard: Geary and Mason. 
Continentally exciting. It's fun! 

Cabiria: 530 Broadway. Informality 
in the heart of the Latin Quarter. 

The Aladdin Studio: 363 Sutter. 
Oski! Wow! Wow! — and that 
means collegiate. 

New Shanghai Cafe: 332 Grant 
Avenue. Oriental. You'll enjoy it. 

Francis Tea Room: 315 Sutter. 
Where dining is a pleasure. 

Temple Bar Tea Room: No. i Till- 
man Place. The aristocratic eating 

La Casa Alta: 442 Post Street. A 
Night in Spain ! Worth looking into. 

The Loggia: 127 Grant. Where the 
Grant Avenue shoppers rest a bit. 

The Gypsy Tea Room: 41 Grant. 
Have your fortunes told between 




Post Street at Grant Avenue 

San Francisco 

George Sterling 
December i, i86g November ii, 1926 

Portrait by Hagemeyer 



The First Year 

We Modestly and Demurely Take Our First Curtain Call 

By Joseph Dyer 

WE should like to commission 
the guardsmen to give seven 
blares on their silver trump- 
ets and let this solemn business of 
commenting a resume of the twelve- 
month anniversary slither off in grace- 
ful echoes. But here and there a slim 
reed persists in the vvind and demands 
the pruner's blade. Here and there, 
scattered over our fourth estate, wis- 
doms have been plucked and we desire 
in an idle fashion to give them ink. 
The thousands of subscribers, persist- 
ing in their loyalty, lasting in their 
devotion to the Exquisite Gesture 
often spelled San Franciscan, must be 
given a first palm. Next, the brave 
and intelligent advertisers. (Hah! 
words, words for these remarkable 
souls!) Through their exceeding gen- 
tility, we have rounded the four sea- 
sons. After these merry squanderers, 
come the slaveys. The writers, as they 
are listed. Some of them have devel- 
oped the cunning of AH Baba, while 
others have introverted science and 
poured rich blood into the type case. 
To these we doff a peaked cap and 
pass out fresh quills, A goodly aver- 
age of them pierced convention and 
sloughed the syrup of sentiment, pro- 
ducing parchments that have brought 
us the scented wine of appreciation 
from our Eastern editorial contem- 
poraries. Last in line, for no intelli- 

gent reason, come our blowing and 
blustering enemies. For these peculiar 
rowdies we pop the cork and spill a 
mug of excellent Burgundy. Without 
them we should be smudged in pov- 
erty and lighter in purse. One does 
not ride a cock horse without sifting a 
quantity of dust. Nor does one select 
the finest in the market place without 
disturbing the coarser. We solicit 
their patience and leave them the last 
of the bottle. 

« t I 

ANCIENT and honorable journal- 
ism requires an annual review 
of asset and liability. In the fastidious 
Fifteenth Century pamphlets of peri- 
odical patter, se\eral pages were de- 
voted to the milestone in its time and 
deposit. We desire to sustain this cus- 
tom — without listing too finely either 
the asset or the liability. Our liabililies 
have been carefully vacuumed each 
month in the wicker catch-all. Our 
assets, on the other side, have been 
plentiful and of large worth. We count 
them over with a delicate reverence 
and with no petty affection. The 
friends we have come to look on with 
passing calm and immediate pleasure. 
The small band of industrious helpers 
who have given us of their meat and 
wine, who have assisted depositing 
the sheriff in the hallway and thrash- 

ing the printer into submission. The 
noble squires and ladies who have 
spared little of self in rallying slabs of 
silver into our chest and lines of 
crystal into our pages. 

t 5! « 

WE have struck a road through 
bramble and thorn, often, but 
attempted no detour. It was our de- 
sire to offer Franciscan culture to the 
intelligent minority. To enlarge and 
polish the rank of that minority. We 
feel in this past dozen months we 
have made a considerable and per- 
manent road. It is for no mean grail 
we have gone through privation and 
sacrifice. And the everlasting wisdom 
of our gain has been the knowledge 
that we should happily double the 
sacrifice to accomplish not a wit more 
than has been returned. 

We have offered twelve plays in the 
past year, and our theatre has occa- 
sioned new eyes with each perform- 
ance. It is a delight to know that the 
scenes were shifted with a minimum 
of confusion and the lines spoken with 
clarity. And a pride to recognize the 
cultural appreciation has been as 
strenuous as we believed it would be. 
And while our theatre is kernaled be- 
tween the Golden Gate and the Ferry 
slip, our audience is scattered over 
the— but the play's on. Clear the lobby' 

The San Franciscan 

Now It Can Be Told 

ALONG with the gross of straw 
flowers and the stuffed kitten, 
we were given the birthday 
honor of having a perfectly good aero- 
plane presented us. With a brave 
banging of tambourines and many 
pretty speeches the presentation was 
delivered yesterday at Lotta's foun- 
tain, Mr. Garfungle blowing dainty 

melodies on his harmonica and An- 
gelica our social itemizer, tripping 
lightly about the brightly colored 
engine with many coos. It was a gay 
moment in our life, and after the 
sandwiches and pop had been spread 
about the Fountain our staff selected 
positions and recounted many a parcel 
of story and event dealing with past 
presentations ^nd due salaries. Some 
little confusion — alack! — developed 
when we made a coy little acceptance 
speech and retired to ponder with 
currente calamo on the uses and prac- 
tices of our possession. We were, to be 
sure, relieved of a perfidious and 
malevolent jealousy. The long nights 
spent pouring over accounts of con- 
temporary publishers and their air- 
ship adventures had become thick 
shadows in our brain. This was now- 
cleared away and we were even a trifle 
to the good — ■in that our cloud wagon 
was still navigable. But where to go? 
What to see:" Where to vanish:" Of 
what earthly good this mechanical 
gull, we reasoned, unless quickly dis- 
patched in the current vogue to ob- 
livion? The Atlantic wetway is no 
longer fashionable, the Pacific waters 
have been completely scavengered, 
the South and North poles have been 
thoroughly skimmed and garnished. 
We felt some irritation, to be truthful, 
that there weren't more seas to wal- 
low through and more lands to bury 
in. Then it came. We removed our 
rubbers and gave solemn thanks. 

The San Franciscan is hereon bulle- 
tined to leave Lotta's Fountain De- 
cember 12, 1927, on a non-stop flight 
to Jupiter a few blocks from Neptune 
carrying as passengers Angelica and 
Aloysius Garfunkle, Progress and 
events of flight will be given daily 

until the machine crashes and they all 
break their necks — in line with the 
traditions and specifications of the 
National Board of Non-Stop Avia- 

I % i 

THE countenances of political 
brethren rupturing our November 
City brings to mind a sweetmeat 
properly seasoned with age and de- 
lightfully droll in its denouement. 
Calvin Coolidge had just been made 
Vice President and was stopping at 
our Palace Hotel. From the foyer to 
the Vice President's suite one could 
not sprinkle a violet petal between 
the Secret Service men, civic and 
national of^cials, aides, secretaries, 
physicians, bellboys and a few hand- 
fuls of hotel employees — not to speak 
of the Gentlemen from the Press. A 
very important and very busy and 
very quiet and very efficient time was 
being had by all. And in the midst of 
it, hurrying from one officer to another, 

tripping over baskets of fruit, and 
flowers, frantic to gain headway and 
beginning to steam lightly, was a 
charming lady interviewer from a 
popular evening paper doing what 
might be called her best to get a few 
words from the popular Vice Presi- 
dent's wife. She had been told this 
and advised that. And in the middle 
of her scampering, while little rivers 
of blood were commencing a rapid 
trot about her brain, she was very 
gently told by a most insignificant 
person who smacked of the guards- 
men, that Mrs. Coolidge would be 
fifteen minutes late — and wouldn't 
she be seated, please, until Mrs. Cool- 
idge arrived? Determined not to be 
bored, she tossed off a half dozen 
warm words mentally, turned her 
back on the fellow and flounced down 
in a chair with a handy magazine and 
much suspended silence. Selecting a 
nicely budding rose, the gentleman 
brought it to her with a bow: "I'm 
sorry she is late," he said gently, "but 
won't you accept a rose from the Vice 
President of the United States?" 

MARKET Street and points split 
therefrom have been recently 
startled by the latest and most glor- 
ious week of them all — Use More Ad- 
hesive Plaster Week. We are requested 
to list the 1001 uses for this ribbon 
sticky, and to buy till it hurts. Baby's 
ears, the adhesive gentlemen tell us 
may be held back by their indispens- 
able product. It will mend galoshes. 
It will bandage fallen arches and 
train eyebrows, remove wrinkles and 
repair football bladders. Yea, the 
error is not designed this cunning 
little roll of gue will not banish. One 
may use it for overcoming a double 
chin as well as to cover a birthmark. 
Fancy that! It becomes a "modesty 
tape" and replaces the sure and pes- 
tiferous brassiere. It may be used to 
bandage an umbrella, cracks in a soul 
plate and downright punctures in 
junior's rubber panties. Here then, 
we feel is not the puff and syrup of an 
ordinary merchant person, but the 
weeping joy of a Samaritan who 
brings a burdened people something 
of an urgent need and exquisite sim- 

« « « 

THE scene is Paris, and the time is 
probably fluttering into dawn. A 
handful of scribblers idle about the 
buffet bar nibbling champagne cock- 
tails and seventy fives. Gertrude 
Stein, intellectual exponent of the 
ultra-violet bede has engaged the 
attention of Master Ernest Heming- 
way, inventor of a recent print ex- 
tolling the virtues of sunrise and 
bullfighting. Gertrude has suggested 
in a definite fashion that Master 
Ernest wrote nothing short of a 
biography of himself in his print tomb. 
Ernest doesn't agree. In fact HE is 
slightly pale about the lips and ac- 
quiring a glitter in the region of the 
corneas. He bids the selected group 
to clear a circle, and with no further 

ado proceeds to strip. Needless to say 
that Master Ernest proved to Ger- 
trude and the entire company that his 
brilliant novel written in the first 
person was NOT a biography. 

WE are come into a blinding cen- 
tury and verily the gods are 
falling. Most recent among them — 
and a hefty god indeed — is our play- 
boy of the Eastern World, Vanity 
Fair A recent issue reproduced a 
photograph of the apparent heir to 
the British throne. The caption be- 
neath the cut was perilously near the 
pale borderland of street vernacular 
and tinted vulgarity We believe it 
represents the sort of line one might 
gather in around West T\\ elfth street 

after midnight. "Let us line up all the 
cameramen," coos this delicate organ, 
and cry: Long Live Edward Albert! 
Hats off, America, to the Indestruc- 
tible, Dancing Drinking Tumbling 
Kissing Walking Talking and Sleep- 
ing Doll of the British Empire!" We 
are further statisticised by this un- 
wearying phonograph of Prince 
Albert's numerous thousand cabinet 
sized photos of how many babies the 
gentleman has kissed, of the footage 
of newsreel he has allowed to celluloid 
his person, of the cornerstones he has 
made definite and the tens of thou- 
sands of blondes he has danced with 
and the bottles of champagne he has 
drunk. We are told that the apparent 
frailty of this young man is thus rup- 
tured and he is, therelore. indestruc- 
tible. Cultural integrity, as H. L. M. 
would list it, in the eminently modish 
Vanity Fair. 

« « « 

SURE in the know ledge a good tale 
has neither locale nor language, 
and desiring only to give our custom- 
ers the clearest bede of humor, we 
have secured the following brace of 
symphonic tremulos: 

Via Western Union, New York 
Vachel Lindsey, 
Davenport Hotel, 
Spokane, Washington. 

May we have your permission to 
include your two poems Heart of 
God and Soul of the Nity in an 
anthology of American Mystical 
\'erse stop Appleton is publishing 
it stop Zona Gale is w riting intro- 
duction stop My address is Cen- 
tral Theological Seminary New 
\'ork stop My letters to you went 

Peter R. Farrow. 

Peter R. Farrow, 
Central Theological Seminary, 
New York City. 

If I wrote the Soul of the Nightie 
it was under circumstances I do 
not remember stop Do not pub- 
lish my Soul of the Nightie stop 
It is entirely too mystical stop 
Appleton's ought to be ashamed 
of themselves stop Certainly the 
Soul of the Nightie was strictly 
for private circulation stop Zona 
Gale ought to be ashamed of her- 
self stop Central Theological Sem- 
inary ought to be ashamed of 
itself stop No wonder your letters 
v\ent astray stop The whole Sem- 
inary seems to have gone astray 
stop I might add that my father 
wore a nightshirt but I have al- 
ways worn pajamas stop. 

\'achel Lindsey 
And to cast light in the shadow, to 
clear the mists and dissipate confu- 
sion, let it be further recorded the 
poem in question is titled "The Soul 
of the City." 

i « ? 

THE rainy days are with us and we 
are once again concerned with 
the vast problem of keeping Union 

Square out of the lobby of the St. 
Francis. There ought to be other 
places to go besides the lobby of a 
more or less respectable hostelry. The 
curious gentlemen and ladies who 
frequent Union Square are not built 
to fit a lobby anyway. Their shoes are 
too flat and they eat bananas in pub- 
lic, not to speak of their lavish dis- 
regard for the wardrobe. Or their 
toothpicks. Or their baggage. We 
know very well the Socialists won't 
be happy about our discrimination 
but then the Stranger in our Gates 
will be able to register without craw I- 
ing over navy persons and tin foil 
collectors. We suggest the park ha- 
bitues should dig little caves to crawl 
into when it rains. They could rest 
there as well as in a lobby, play their 
harmonicas and eat their old bananas. 

« t « 

MIXTURES reported by our Spe- 
cial Correspondent from the 
W. C. T. U. "Americana Cocktail " — 
equal parts gin, Angostura Bitters 
and lemon juice: sweeten with sugar. 

The San Franciscan 

"The Lone Star" — two parts whiskey, 
one part lemon juice, one part maple 
syrup (ser\e very cold). Prices for the 
holiday trade (F.O.B.) San Fran- 
cisco. Canadian — champagne, pearl 
#2, 12 qts. @ $io. sngl., $ioo. per cse. 
Champagne, 12 year province of 
Champagne, Fr., #6, 12 qts. @ $17. 
sngl., $175- per cse. Whiskies — 
Cndian Clb., MacDougal., Green 
River., Thompson's e.xta. dry, Hen- 
nesy #'s i, 2, 3, 4, Pontoon's Golden 
Velvet, Walker, etc., etc., 5 qts. per 
sack; $8.50 sngl., $35. per sack. Gins 
— Booth's Hind., Dutch Silver., Gor- 
don exta. dry., McPherson's exta- 
exta dry #'s 467, 354, Juno's Hind., 
etc., etc., 10 fifths per case; $6. sngl., 
$50. per cse. Scotland: Whiskies — 
MacDougal in wood; Homers clb. 
size 10 smrs; River of Clyde, qts. only. 

i i « 

The celluloid bazaarsof Hollywood 
have sent us another. This time a 
peddler of titles; genuine European 
lineage w rapped and delivered to San 
Franciscans — for a pittance of, lets 
say. one fifth the family fortune His 
pen floweth over and his brain bub- 
bleth with a select list of Counts, 
Barons, Dukes, Lords. Earls, Vis- 
counts — even Princes! If one is prop- 
erly introduced to this energetic soul 
— and has the necessary capital — one 
may conclude business with a few sig- 
natures in a few minutes and emerge 
— lo! — a suddenly discovered relation 
of some poverty stricken nobleman. 
The exquisite nicety of it all is that a 
human is permitted as many relatives 
as he desires. A Russian exile — the 
Tsar's cousin and know n as the Duke 
of Siberia — may wax fat o\ernight by 
allow ing the daily press to record that 
he has discovered no end of pork pur- 
veyors and butter wrappers are his 
relatives! And the siher snatching, 
isn t all for the peddler and his herd 
of coatless nobles. If you will induce a 
friend to consider purchasing a title, 
the gentleman will tender you a com- 
mission, a percentage of the friend s 
contribution to Europe's hungry 

Lords and Ladies. We suggest a few 
of our more enterprising shops look 
into this matter with the idea of creat- 
ing a title counter along with perfumes 
and hardware. 

The San Franciscan. 

The San Franciscan 

I 10 1 

Many Happy Returns 

We Are Remembered By Our Friends On Our Day of Days 

October 17, igi/ 
Joseph Dyer, Editor, 
San Franciscan, 
San Francisco, Calif. 

I ha\'e read your magazine with 
much interest and congratulate you on 
the fine showing. 

Prince William of Sweden 

October i8lh, igi/ 
The San Franciscan: 

Ail good wishes for our most artistic 

Gertrude Atherton 

September i), igi/ 
Editor, The San Franciscan. 

The San Franciscan is per- 
fectly San Franciskish. What 
better could be said? What 
more could be asked ^ 

Rl'pert Hughes 

October 21st, igi/ 

Joseph Dyer, Editor, 
The San Franciscan, 
San Francisco, Calif. 

Congratulations on rounding out 
your first year. The home of my heart 
is San Francisco, If any city in the 
world should have its own magazine 
to express its spirit and its culture 
that city should be San Francisco. 

Morris Gest 

October ig, 7927 
Mr. Joseph Dyer, Editor, 
The San Franciscan. 
San Francisco, Calif. 
Dear Mr. Dyer: 

I should like to congratulate 
you upon the first birthday of 
your very bright and interest- 
ing The San Franciscan. I 
have read several copies of the 
paper and have always found 
them exceedingly clever and 
entertaining. Your selections 
have been excellent and far 
above the ordinary run of 
papers of that character. 

It seems to me that you are 
heading for a big success. I cer- 
tainly hope so. 

May your paper have many 
more birthdays. Sincerely, 

Fremont Older 

San FRA^■Clsco,G^Ll^^ 

October leth, 1927. 

Jty dear ttr. Dyeri 

Some four years ago, when llr Ray Long, the editor of 

The Cosmopolitan, put Into ny hands che first copy of The Hew 

Yorker and asked me what I thou^t of it, I an happy to remem- 

ber that I predicted for It a long and flourishing career. So 

when I cake up a copy of The San Prancleean and examine it, I 

feeX Jaetifiec in tellln« »«>> that r beHere it naa a d-finit" 

Dlace in the city whose name 11 bears, «nd that It jb far and 

awny the beet weekly devoted to the Arts ini^ topics of timely 

Interest that has ever been published herA, Ann further, that 

tt behnoTes the intelllKent readare of Its native heath,— and 

who shall eay there are not n hundred thoueam aucbf — aro the far- 

aeeing and proicreeelTe adTertlsere of this city to support it 

The first year of a magaslne's life Is toe hardest, but I believe 

that in the flouriehing ones to come, you will look back on the 

one that ends with this Hovember, ae that which brou^t you the 

most satisfaction. Hy felicitations ! 

Ur Joseph Dyer, 

ncleco, Calif 


October ijth, igiy 
Editors, The San Franciscan, 
San Francisco, Calif. 

I have read The San Franciscan 
and want to tell you how delighted I 
am with it. Of all publications which 
have followed the trail blazed by The 
New Yorker, yours certainly is the 
most convincing. 1 1 seems to represent 
a very intelligent and inquiring civili- 
zation. California should be more 
than proud of The San Franciscan; 
it should patronize it limitlessly. 
James Roth 

Joseph Dyer, October zSth. igij 

The San Franciscan, 
San Francisco, Calif. 

My heartiest congratulations and 

best wishes for your continued success. 

Herbert Fleishhacker 

October 20th, 7927 
Dear Mr. Dyer: 

I have watched The San Francis- 
can with much interest the past year. 
Not for what you have accomplished 
— that is still in the balance — but for 
what you have attempted — I congrat- 
ulate you. Jim Tullv 

October 24th, igi? 
Joseph Dyer: 

I shall begin by saying quite tritely 
that it scarcely seems possible that a 
year has passed since I sat down to 
my Corona to pound out an article on 
"Provincialism" for the first issue of 
The San Franciscan. But that is 
only because I am not the editor. The 
editor of any new-born periodical is 
bound to feel the full weight of every 
thirty days in the entire twelvemonth. 
But the first twelve months are al- 
ways the hardest. I f a publication can 
survive them, it is well on its 
way to being in the same case 
with the negro who remarked 
that whenever he lived through 
the month of March he usually 
lived through the rest of the 

It is a tribute to the growing 
excellence of The San Fran- 
ciscan that it has survived 
this figurative March of storm 
and stress. More particularly, 
as San Francisco has nothing 
on the little tov\ n of Nazareth 
when it comes to denying its 
prophets. It has even denied 
its o.wn wine in the days when 
Andrea Sharbaro shipped 
Chianti back to Italy so that 
it might re-enter the haunts of 
the Connoisseur bearing a 
foreign label. But San Fran- 
cisco is not the only offender: 
Art has seldom prospered on 
its ov\n threshold Only two 
winters ago the debut of a 
charming New York girl at the 
Metropolitan was overlooked 
by the critics who were then 
busily engaged in wearing out 
typewriter ribbons extolling 
the mediocre talents of a young miss 
from Kansas City. 

Which might all be in the way of 
being tedious if it did not point to the 
superlative achievement of the staff 
of The San Franciscan in planting 
its feet firmly upon the shifting favors 
of its own home town. 

Charles Caldwell Dobie 
October 26th, igiC 
My dear Mr. Dyer: 

George Creel joins me in felicita- 
tions and admiration for The San 

Blanche Bates Creel 

Continued on Page 30 

The San 

11 1 

Te Deum Laudamus 

An informal flash of our birthday gambol at the Mark Hopkins; 
showing besides the bun. the candle and the sheriff's daughter in 
full regalia, the following, reading from left to right. Bottom Row: 
Elva Williams in silent prayer. Mollie Merrick singing spirituals. 
Joseph Dyer mumbling "Curfew Shall Not Ring Tonight, " Anita 
Day Hubbard whistling ditties and Rowena Mason shooting 

marbles. Center Row: Charles Dobie meditating the Scriptures, 
Catti designing a mustard label. George Douglas offering incense 
and Zoe Battu hypnotizing the cameraman. Top Row: S. Bert 
Cooksley perpendicularly paralyzed. Idwal Jones lamefltiaaJlis 
lost zyther. Hagemeyer anticipating the check. and CSotor navon 
stuffing olives. Palms and chairs from the Coroner's olticc. t-ood 
courtesy of the Infant Shelter. 

The San Franciscan 
f 121 

The House of Bull 

An Informal Evening With The Borgias 

By Antonia PiA 

Scene: A deep, ceremonious, din- 
ing salon flanked with serving 
men whose complicated liveries 
beipeak the pomp and splendor of the 
House of Borgia. The massive dining 
table covered with a rich brocade flaunts 
its high estate. Candelabras, laden with 
ornament, vases, wine flagons twisted 
in exquisite designs, the dim voluptuous 
light, the heavy atmosphere of solemnity 
and sin. this is the dining salon of His 
Holiness. Pope .Alexander the Sixth. 
His Holiness sits at the head of the 
table, looking small and meek and 
weary under the weight of his impor- 
tance. Lucrezia Borgia sits near him, 
insolently beautiful, in a violent scarlet 
robe. Cesare Borgia, her brother, with 
big hazel eyes and pallid face, is at the 
further end of the table, looking very 

Lucrezia: {after a long silence). You 
are not so amusing as you used to 
be. brother. Can you find nothing 
to say? 

Cesare: Nothing that could interest 
your feeble brain, sister. 

Lucrezia: (ivith a shrug) My poor 
brain has become feeble denying 
your sins. 

Alexander: Ssh! Ssh! my children. 
{He makes a tired gesture). 

Lucrezia : Yes and our beloved father 
is weary of your confessions. {She 

Cesare: Our beloved father knows 
about my triumphs before they are 

Alexander: {whining) Cesare! 

Cesare: There is a woman called 
Colomba who thinks she performs 
miracles. She is not so simple as 
you, my sister. 

Alexander: She is uncertain in the 
head. I have sent my physician to 

Cesare: Our father does not believe 
in miracles. He believes in medi- 
cine. Sceptic! 

Alexander: The woman is a fakir, 
she suffers from epilepsy, I have 
told you. Cease! 

Lucrezia: She has not failed com- 
pletely. She is not unknown to our 
father and my illustrious brother 
speaks of her. 

Cesare: I shall never live that down, 
however great I may become. 

Alexander: Live what down? 

Cesare: Being the brother of Lu- 

Lucrezia: You are trying very hard 
to live up to it. 

Alexander: {irritated). Do you quar- 
rel for pleasure^ It seems so. 

Lucrezia: We are so civilized, we are 
weary of love. It is a milksop. We 
find hate much more amusing. 

Alexander: Your wit is strained- 
Some vulgar poet has taught you 
an idea and you sport it unceasingly . 

Cesare: The female mind is a parrot. 

Lucrezia: {with a sigh). I wish I were 
not so important then I should be 
able to speak without always being 

Alexander: Important^ 

Cesare: To whom? 

Lucrezia: To history. 

Alexander: Important' I have made 
you. I shall be known to history. 

Cesare: Pardon! Through my clev- 

Lucrezia: Your histories shall be 
made glamorous by me. 

Alexander: {screeching). You mean 
nothing to the Church, my daugh- 

Lucrezia: Nothing to the Church, 
eh! I married a Duke and a fat one 
to get a province for the Church. 

Cesare: You haggle over glory like a 
fishmonger's wife over a mackerel. 

Alexander: Cease! Cease! {plain- 
tively) What have I done to deserve 
such offspring. I should rather be a 
poor man with a pasture — andsome 

Lucrezia: Fancy me a shepherdess. 

Alexander: You two are just like 
your mother. Noisy, loud, quarrel- 
some, ungrateful. I have made you 
what you are and what thanks' do 
I get? 

Cesare: What we are. What are we'' 
My beloved sister, a harlot and I, 
your henchman working in dark- 
ness. We have done your dirty work. 
You wish us to be devils to the 
world and seraphs to you. You 
want too much. 
Alexander: {trembling with anger). 
Stop! Stop! I shall leave you. An 
old man driven from his table by 
two vipers of children. I do not 
trust you, either of you. The bread 
I eat in the House of God I fear 
because of you. Now you know it. 
You — you — you — {he rises). 

Cesare: Afraid, dear Father, of us? 

Alexander: {leaving, a pack of at- 
tendants appearing). Out, out. Bit- 
terness, {he ivhines. Tottering with 
rage. His Holiness retires.) 
Lucrezia: I shall waste no time. You 
must abduct the mistress of Gio- 
vanni Riaro, leaving notice of her 
elopement with somebody — any- 
one. Get rid of her. I want him. 
Cesare: Want him for what^" 
Lucrezia: For a time. 
Cesare: I am not your pander. 
Lucrezia: You will do this, at once. 
Cesare: Do you command me? 
Lucrezia: It seems so. 
Cesare: I decline. I loathe seeing you 
want something you cannot get, 
sister. But I haven't the time to 
get it for you. 
Lucrezia: Abduct the woman, at 

Cesare: You are ridiculous. 
Lucrezia: And you poisonous. 
Cesare: {with a loud guffaw). What 

do you mean? 
Lucrezia: You know. Poisonous is 
the only adjective that can be used. 
Do you hear well? 
Cesare: ^'ou play a role, a ridiculous 

Lucrezia: And you a bloody one. 
Cesare: Talk, prattle. I shall kill you 

just to cease that prattle. 
Lucrezia: Aye! Aye! The Duke of 

Gandia is dead. 
Cesare: {narrowing his eyes). What? 
Lucrezia: Our brother, the Duke of 
Gandia is dead. Did you not know- 
it;' You were last with him. 
Cesare: {shaking his head). You are 

worse than I. 
Lucrezia: Now, you will abduct this 
woman. Poison her if necessary. 
That is simple and you are prac- 
ticed at those simple things. 
Cesare: Why should I do this:' 
Lucrezia: ^'ou are afraid of me. 
Cesare: I am afraid of neither 

Heaven nor Hell. 
Lucrezia: Courageous! But you are 
afraid of our Father. {A silence, then 
slyly). He loved Gandia. 
Cesare : Idiot ! What pleasure is there 
in having a lover who thinks of 
another while caressing you, who 
does not think, has never thought 
of you ? 

(Continued on Page 35) 

The San Franciscan 

f 131 

Allen Vincent 

Portrait by De Forest 

In a sophisticated plav written by a brilliant ultra sophisticated playwright and 
played in a modern manner, Allen Vincent gives a characterization as fine as 
anything seen in San Francisco. Mr. Vincent is an authentic actor and his work 
has the finish, distinction and quality of sincerity which places him as one of the 
leading young actors of the stage today. 

The San Franciscan 
f 141 

The Fair Art of Criticism 

Showing that Critical Judgment of Musical Values is Perilously Uncertain 

By Lee S. Gunter 

HAS musical criticism any ac- 
tual function or justifica- 
tion 1 

Granted without argument that it 
is the most uncertain of all criticism, 
that it has a tradition of appalling 
misjudgments in high places, and that 
it has as yet approximated no Dide- 
rot or Sainte-Beuve, it still must be 
evident that criticism of music is far 
more vitally necessary than criticism 
of literature or representative art. 

Music in its present form — as I 
may have said elsewhere — is an infant 
in time and space. The magnitude of 
its potential value, its power, its ap- 
peal, may be sensed; but its language 
is not the language of the plain man; 
for him it is in constant need of glos- 
sary and exegesis. No art, no thing, 
can maintain a healthy, long con- 
tinued existence in a state of essential 
isolation. It is the high office of the 
critic and the critical reviewer to 
stand like Aaron between the living 
splendor of the noblest of the arts and 
the — if not dead, at least but partially 
awakened public, and with faith and 
zeal, and the warmth of intelligent 
enthusiasm, interpret this splendor 
and correlate it with something that 
an ordinary human can grasp. Be- 
cause if the non-technical hearer can- 
not connect up what he hears with 
any experience of his own life he will 
never become a true devotee of music. 

The function of musical criticism 
in the present is to educate; to teach 
discrimination, to foster intelligent 
enthusiasm, to encourage that great 
expectation which is the parent of 
noble achievement. Therefore, not 
only to admit, but to assert, that an 
imperfect performance is imperfect, 
is a sacred duty which the critic owes 
on the one hand to the public, and on 
the other, to the professional musi- 

As regards the public, few listeners 
indeed have an inherent standard as 
to the '"rightness" or the "wrongness" 
of any composition, interpretation or 
performance. Far more than one would 
like to believe, the average concert- 
goer depends upon his critic to decide 
for him the artistic value of any opus 
and of its performance. If the critic 
pronounces some ephemeral composi- 
tion or mediocre performance to be in 
the highest degree excellent, the hearer 

is constrained to set up these imper- 
fections as standards by which to 
measure, and thus is given a serious 
and generally irretrievable injury. 

On the other hand, the professional 
musician, like the rest of us, is entirely 
human. If he is assured continually 
that his work is perfect and altogether 
satisfactory, he would be more than 
human to strive for an ideal he is said 
already to have attained. 

No value of musical criticism, how- 
ever, either to the public or to the 
profession, can justify the arrogance 
of those critics who assume the atti- 
tude of ill-bred children in possession 
of some twopenny secret. Real musi- 
cians are nearly always very simple 
people who make no mystery what- 
ever of their calling, but the class of 
critic referred to would convince the 
public that the appreciation and un- 
derstanding of music belong to a 
closed and sternly limited cult, and 
that the only duty of the common 
man, in addition to financial support, 
is to believe what he is told, and be 
content to remain in his present state, 
world w.ithout end. Until very recently, 
this type was wont to embellish his 
writings richly with technical phrases 
and esoteric terms calculated to im- 
press the neophyte, after the manner 
of the fledgling doctor in a small town 
but at the moment, happily, this prac- 
tice has a little gone out of fashion. 

A more harmless type likes to bol- 
ster up the critical authority he doubts 
himself to possess by quotations from 
the private conversation of this or 
that Mr. Eminent So-and-So. It must 
be obvious that musical criticism re- 
duced to the basis of "he says to me 
says he" is undignified and ridiculous. 
« « Sf 

To compare the present unfavor- 
ably with the past is a cherished 
device of the aged in particular and 
critics in general. Comparisons may 
or may not be odious, but they are 
legitimate only where they are open 
to proof. If I say that the voice of 
Miss Marion Talley is not as beautiful 
as the voice of Jenny Lind; or if I say 
that the planet Venus is inhabited by 
a race of men having green hair, no 
one can successfully dispute me, be- 
cause such statements are not suscep- 
tible of proof. The first assertion will, 
undoubtedly, be received with a yawn, 

and the second, perhaps, with a smile 
but both assertions will have equal 
value as musical criticism. 

The astonishing stupidities histori- 
cally recorded of noted critics are not 
strictures upon musical criticism, or 
even commentaries upon the fallibility 
of human judgment. They came as 
results from tying up with particular 
schools or individuals and failure to 
keep an open mind. There is no case 
on record of any musical genius who 
has not been recognized by the major- 
ity of critics of his own day and coun- 
try. A Hanslick, fanatically committed 
to a Brahms, may be egregiously 
wrong as to a Wagner. But even a 
Hanslick was right about Brahms; 
and he was right about any number 
of near-geniuses of his time, whom he 
rated quite correctly as unimportant. 
But where a Hanslick has gone spec- 
tacularly wrong, the rank and file of 
critics, men and women who retained 
a decent humility of spirit and a rea- 
sonable openmindedness, who had no 
axe to grind of blind loyalty to any 
school or individual, have alw ays kept 
the balance and saved the day, both 
for genius and for common sense. 

Music can, properly, be divided 
into two classes only: Good and bad. 
Bad music may be found in a goo-ey 
balladorsilly religious song ; in cacoph- 
onous jazz, or in pretentious, empty 
symphonic or operatic writing. Bad 
music is confined to no country, period 
or form. Any more than good music is 
so confined. Bad music is bad because 
it is empty and trivial. Its danger lies 
in the fact that its continued hearing 
and acceptance fixes the emotional 
percipience on so low a plane that 
when good music is heard it is rejected 
by a vitiated aural palate. Precisely 
as in the case of literature or repre- 
sentative art. The individual who 
exists for any length of time on an 
aesthetic diet of chromos and the 
writings of Mr. Harold Bell Wright 
will be excessively unlikely to under- 
stand and enjoy Rembrandt and 

The popularization of bad music is 
a triumph of class distinction propa- 
ganda. It has been "sold" to the pub- 
lic as typical of and belonging to the 
proletariat, as distinguished from 
good music, which is represented as 

(Continued on Page 28) 

The San Franciscan 

f 15 1 

Literary Linguistics 

Proving That Very Modern Fiction Writers Are Not Dreaming 

B\ Arnold Spence 

PUNCTURING cliches, smash- 
ing the corrupt citadels of 
trite imagery, nostalgic ro- 
manticisms, grimy realisms, and 
academic mots Justes the young 
authors fought battles of their 
own more important to us now 
than all the pitiful Ypres and 
V'erduns. It is a happy moment 
to look about and try to deter- 
mine the salutary effect of these 
verbal conquests. We are not 
yet distracted by the offensives 
of new men striking further to 
the left, and are no longer daz- 
zled by the heresiesof the bright 
multi-colored, little columns 
which for several years have 
been flickering before our eyes 
like Armistice Day confetti. 
The frantic reforms of a de- 
railed generation preoccupied 
with extracting a certain in- 
ebriated hilarity from its own 
disenchantment are gradually 
becoming as historic as the 
Battle of the Marne, and the 
fiction writers, perhaps the 
most frantic of the lot, are get- 
ting bald, putting their money 
in General Motors and secretly 
planning to die sane. 

The Papas have long ceased 
to count. Marcel Proust died 
leaving one last neurotic plea 
for survival in "Le Temps Re- 
trouve," the stillborn infant of 
an aged Casanova. No doubt 
there is already a Proust So- 
ciety whose tomes have begun 
to collect dust in the St. Gene- 
vieve Library alongside Pales- 
trina, Pascal, Poussin, Prevost 
.... James Joyce, "sitting" for re- 
formed cubists, ignorantly worshipped 
by dissipated American surrealistes, 
lives on in Paris, established, unread, 
and going blind; a sort of twentieth 
century Milton 

The children have either fallen out 
or taken to imitating themselves and 
each other .... Katherine Mansfield 
and Ronald Firbank are in Purgatory 
chatting perhaps with Eric Satie. 
Paul Morand and Aldous Huxley in a 
final courageous effort to recapture 
their originality took world tours. 
For them only the moon is left. When 
Morand hoped in his latest work that 

From a painltng hy Joscf^li Stella 

By Mary Avis Blavker 

No alien of the sea are you, who wear 
Yourself upon a luminous instrument 
Of silver, wrought in rythms, beauty blent. 

With sound of flashing armour against the air. 

But alien to me, quite unaware — 

^'our thoughts as silver as your bones and sent 
.As lightly over this, my frail torment 

As were I so devised the moon to snare! 

She strangely latticed for the winds' delight. 
As is the quivering sea, lies deep with moan 

A lair of loveliness for trembling night — 

A far out dream that could almost he blown 

Under your glance, green shoaled, a silver flight- 
Take care! her sidelong glances are vour own. 

after his death his hide would be 
turned into a valise it sounded like a 
cry of despair rather than an effort to 
be witty. Carl Van Vechten has de- 
serted Harlem for Hollywood where 
he writes precious "little middle 
articles " about the .Ambassador door- 
man and Clara Bow's knees. Elinor 
Wylie and Sherwood .Anderson have 
buried themselves; she under a pile of 
exotic art objects, and he in a hazy 
cloud of personal reminiscence. Dor- 
othy Richardson, Jean Giraudoux, 
D. H. Law rence, Virginia Woolf, Louis 
Aragon, Gertrude Stein and Phillipe 
Soupault ha\'e given much but, alas, 

they all seem to have stopped 
growing considerably short of 

There is still hope Ernest 
Hemingw.ay, Jacques Sindral, 
Glenway Wescott, Thornton 
\\ ilder, and Thomas Mann are 
promising grandchildren hut . . 
« « « 

NOT only dreams but all the 
sacrosanct phraseology 
of Pre-Raphaelitic, Symbolis- 
tic and Naturalistic days. The 
new writers (vaguely post — 
1Q14) found that when you 
had rung up the cheese cloth 
curtain and pulled Melisande 
out near the footlights she had 
a lifted face and a permanent 
w ave. Romantic love and Ren- 
aissance death suggested noth- 
ing so much as cheap magazines 
and movie subtitles. .Nine ref- 
erences to sunset, waterfalls, 
eyes or complexion out of ten 
made you think of flushed post- 
cards of the Cote D'Azur and 
burnished collar and soap post- 
ers. Something had to be done 
about it and the young writer, 
what with the press daily 
showering the world with sev- 
eral billion cliches, realized the 
necessity of a new originality 
of language and to that end a 
thorough renoN'ation of the old. 
Joyce as a kind of primitive 
of the school exposed the grow- 
ing rottenness of language by 
writing "Ulysses " partly in the 
style of Snappy Stories, news- 
papers and chemistry text- 
books, and partly in the styles 
of the certain great English 
authors from Chaucer to Pater but 
his own experiments were too eccentric 
or too personal for imitation. After 
him the arena of literature was still 
open to contestants. Proust stepped 
bravely forth and harangued the mul- 
titude in a mass of parentheses and 
relative clauses that put to sleep all 
who were not in the front row , but he 
talked so long that they finally awoke 
and listed in spite of themselves. 

All sorts of extravagant iconoclasts 
followed. Jean Cocteau called Venice 
at night, "a negro courtesan dead in 
her bath with all her paste jewels on." 

(Ojtuinucd on Page ly) 

The San Franciscan 

f 16 1 

Etude In Ugliness 

We Continue the Tragical Epic of a Very Young Man 

By Elva Williams 

STEPHEN grew accustomed to the 
Home and as the years passed 
the place grew more and more 
tolerable. Sometimes in the cold win- 
ter twilight as he lingered near a win- 
dow and watched the shadows gather 
about the familiar grey buildings he 
was quite satisfied. At the twilight 
hour the place took on a sombre dig- 
nity that was somehow pleasing. He 
watched the children passing in the 
courtyard and he thought how much 
better it was to have no one to love. 
Then one did not care who was sick 
and did not have to watch anybody 
die. It was better to have no one. Still 
it would have been nice if someone 
would kiss one's cheek and say one's 
very own name. 

Lessons grew more interesting. 
There was a man called Julius Caesar 
who went to war. There was a man 
called Hannibal who was most aw- 
fully unlucky. Sometimes Stephen 
cried over Hannibal because he was 
so unlucky. But the greatest man of 
all was called Julian. Stephen could 
not understand just what Julian did 
to be so great. But, at any rate, the 
important thing was that Julian 
seemed somehow like himself, alone. 

There was a woman called Joan of 
Arc. Stephen did not like her. There 
was Queen Guinevere, and Vivien, 
the enchantress, both of whom were 
very beautiful. But Elaine, he loved 
Elaine. If he might see but for a 
moment the white and gold Elaine. 
He prayed earnestly for a dream of 
her and he grew pale with the effort 
to bring forth a vision of her. He 
knew full well there was no Elaine, 
alive or dead, in the present or the 
past. Women were not beautiful. 
Books were full of lies. But it was 
better to have the books. It was bet- 
ter to be lied to. 

The time had come to leave. Ignore 
it, forget about it, still the time had 
come to work. A present misery is 
always preferable to a new one. 
Stephen knew this and was loath to 
leave the Home. Work on a farm was 
healthy, they said. One worked with 
strong men who helped a boy to 
become strong as they were. A strong 
man had hairy arms and big feet. Work 
hard and after a time a woman would 
appear and Stephen would love her, 
the matron had said. They would be 
married, raise children and if Stephen 

was honest and worked very hard they 
might own a farm of their own. 
? ? * 

STEPHEN went to a farm to work. 
The farm was big and dusty. 
There was the farmer, his wife, his 
two daughters and four strong men 
and a great lot of work, work w ithout 
end. Even the younger daughter of 
the farmer, who was very pale and 
quiet, worked. The dogs appeared to 
be busy. Stephen shared a room with 
the four strong men, who were very 
kind to him in their rough bovine way. 
Stephen was so tired at night that he 
found no time to dream of Elaine and 
her barge of death or Hannibal and 
his tragic failure. He found no time to 
think of anything. He found to do, 
this or that, fetch this, move that, eat, 
sleep. Life grew to greater propor- 
tions of misery. But misery must not 
be talked about. Perhaps all of the four 
men felt as he did and dared not speak 
of it. If one talked of it something 
would happen. If one spoke of it one 
couldn't bear it anymore. Maybe the 
pale daughter of the farmer called 
Eva was unhappy too but did not 
speak of it. Maybe the whole world 
was miserable and kep silent about it. 
Stephen grew feverish. 

Occasionally the four men took 
Stephen with them when they went 
riding in the battered automobile. 
They grew restless after dinner and if 
the moon was bright, were loath to go 
to bed. They would linger about and 
finally decide to ride. It was pleasant 
to ride down the road and watch the 
moon, the quiet fields and the mys- 
terious patches of dark shadows. He 
was bathed in light airy fancies as the 
road was bathed in moonlight. After 
a few of these evenings, Stephen de- 
veloped a burning hatred of the sun. 
The sun was synonymous with work. 
In the moonlight Elaine came trip- 
ping forth from the shadowy bushes 
along the river and he rode past her 
in a chariot drawn by three enormous 
horses. One evening he grew tired of 
passing Elaine. He permitted her a 
place at his side. She called him 
Launcelot. His eyes rested on her 
mouth, a breathless flower with lips 
half-open. He closed her lips with his 
own. Something hitherto undreamed 
of had happened. He had kissed her. 

"What in hell's the matter? a 
coarse voice asked from the back of 

the automobile. "Are you sick?"' 

Stephen shook himself. "No." 
"What did you moan for, then? 
Are you daffy? " 

'"Did I moan?" Stephen was un- 
reasonably happy. 

Watching the four men bathe was a 
continual source of displeasure to 
Stephen. They gathered about a wash- 
tub in the center of the room and went 
about the business of keeping clean 
with a vigor that was astonishing. 
They drew off their shirts and dis- 
played their hairy arms, hairy chests, 
and protuberant bellies. Stephen en- 
deavored to be away at the hour of 
these balneal performances, but often 
it was impossible. He was forced to 
sit in the room and pretend indiffer- 
ence. He would catch glimpses of their 
graceless bodies in spite of himself 
and his face would twitch with dis- 
gust. Strange ugly ideas crept into his 
mind, prompted by the knowledge the 
men had given to him in little hints 
and insinuations. The men were 
aware of his agony of shyness, made 
sport of it, and forced their nudity 
upon him. 

"What"s the matter, kid? What are 
you ashamed of?" they demanded. 

Shrunken and pale he answered 
them. "Tm ashamed because you"re 
so ugly."" 

« « « 

JULIA, the elder daughter of the 
farmer, was nicknamed Little 
Beauty. Everyone spoke of Little 
Beauty and one saw her everywhere. 
She dashed about from one place to 
another, laughing, talking and receiv- 
ing tokens of admiration. She wore 
red ribbons on her hair and had black 
eyes that sparkled diabolically. She 
was a favorite with the four men. To 
Eva, her sister, they rarely addressed 
a word. Eva was silent and pale and 
in her fair plaited hair there was a 
quiet sorrow. She had a thin fragile 
figure and a long white neck. Stephen 
thought of her a good deal. I f he were 
Julian, the Emperor, he would never 
think of her. She had drooping shoul- 
ders and drooping shoulders made 
one sad. If he were Julian he would 
say to her: "I like you You please 
me. But your shoulders made me sad. 
You must leave me for I w ant to be 
gay." But he was not Julian, he re- 

(Continued on Page ib) 

The San 





In the mural illustrated is 
shown the effect of union, the 
holy strength of a people whose 
fruits nourish youth and whose 
flowers shall crown the next gene- 
ration. Above, the mechanic, the 
agriculturist and thesoldierstand 
united. Below, the city woman 
gives flowers to peasant children 
typifying social as well as econo- 
mic and political union. 

The San Franciscan 

118 1 

Mrs. Howard Park 
President of the San Francisco Junior League 

Photogratyh by Drake. Chicago 

The San 

The Reigning Dynasty 

19 1 

THE debutantes have it ' We pre- 
sent to them the season which 
rises sparkling and brilliant on 
an Aladdinish salver to be made the 
most of as only young, sweet things 
are able.' . . . Not that we intend to 
relinquish all claim, for although we 
humbly bow our way back we are con- 
tent, for a gay debutante season gives 
life to the entire winter and provides 
innumerable festivities, the warmth 
of which illuminates every nook and 
corner in the social world. Already 
Mariana Casserly has started the 
gayety by making her bow at a large 
reception in San Mateo which was fol- 
lowed by a dinner dance for the 
younger group. This mode seems to 
have met with much favor for Eleanor 
Weir will be introduced byher mother, 
Mrs. William Weir, on November 
twelfth at a similar affair. California 
Breuner, the lovely daughter of the 
John Breuners (California Cluff, a 
great beauty in her deb days) will 
come out the end of November at one 
of those over-grown tea parties with 
the evening reserved for those slightly 
more youthful as to years and infin- 
itely more hilarious as to "spirits," 
On the same day her cousin, Mabel 
Wilson, who is the daughter of Mrs. 
Arthur Comstock (Mabel Cluff) of 
New York, will make her debut at the 
inevitable Sherrys. Both debutantes 
spent the year in Europe together 
and give every promise of being suc- 
cesses in their respective climes. 

There is something about the 
breathless excitement of a debut ball, 
however, we thoroughly advocate. 
No matter how very swank the gar- 
den party or reception, it lacks the 
picturesque beauty of the time hon- 
ored "bal. From the days of the car- 
riage callers, when prancing horses 
deposited the lovely ladies and mel- 
ancholy youths to the present day of 
limousines and roadsters and their 
modern cargo, one finds the same 
thrilling gayness connected to the all 
night emerging of a young damozel 
into the sublime circle. November 
17th and the much coveted bits of 
cardboard bearing that date which 
will be sprinkled among the Reigning 
Dynasty will of course bring us again 
for the third time to El Palomar, when 
Mrs. Tobin Clark will present her 
daughter Agnes to the expectant 
world. The Clark debuts manage al- 
ways to have an international snack, 
for in the case of Mary and Patricia 
the first two recruits and now in the 
case of Agnes the youngest, Richard 
Tobin, Esq. has come from The Hague 

for the express purpose of being at the 
ball and remaining long enough to 
give a very smart dance at the Bo- 
hemian Club before departing, there- 
by launching the host of parties that 
ensue in honor of the deb In like man- 
ner their aunt, Vlrs. Charles Raoul- 
Duval and cousin Madeline Raoul- 
Duval come from Paris and from New 
York come Mrs. Clement Tobin and 
her daughter Aileen. For the brief 
hours of one fleeting night these dis- 
tances seem perhaps rather great but 
the prevailing charm and distinction 
Mrs. Clark achieves in debuts make 
it worth while. A large pavilion is 
used for the dancing, one time, with 
its canopy of stars made to represent 
a Persian garden and another time 
with cypress trees, fountains and 
strings of jeweled lights, it is reminis- 
cent of a Venetian fete. . . . 

ONE wonders as one views the very 
soigne figureof Mrs. Harry Hill, 
lunching and dining, here and there, 
with Mrs. Frederick Peabody (Gladys 
Quarre) which is the aunt and which 
is the niece? Each time Mrs. Hill re- 
turns from Europe, as she did recently, 
she appears with even more of the 
subtle French distinction in the way 
of dress. As her trips to Europe are 
unending, her chic has arrived to the 
point there "isn't any more." The 
Peabodys are Mrs. Hill's house guests 
at the moment and much entertaining 
is taking place for them. It was in 
Mrs. Hill s exquisite French salon 
that the former Gladys Quarre and 
Fred Peabody were married last year. 
t t \ 

THE first of the Junior League 
fashion shows took place at the 
Mark Hopkins recently and the tea 
tables were filled with smart numbers 
of the Reigning Dynasty, who lent as 
much atmosphere with their delight- 
ful costumes as the models w ho tripped 
the boards. Mrs. Henry Monteagle, 
Mrs. Henry Stevenson, Mrs. David 
Conrad, Mrs. George Hearst. Miss 
Doris Schmieden, Miss Barbara Bal- 
lou. Miss Harriet Wirtner, Miss 
Helene Lundborg and Mrs. Jerd Sul- 
livan were the models. The latter is 
as aristocratic and distinguished as 
she gracefully drifts across the room 
as — shall we say a professional. For 
indeed those of the latter category 
many times succeed, where the origi- 
nal fails. The new hotel on the hill 
continues to gain in popularity with 
the dynasty who are using its facil- 
ities more and more for their formal 
and informal functions. 

WITH very little ado the Daniel 
decided to venture forth to see the 
world. They had been home for sev- 
eral weeks, and, well, that palls on 
every one in time. Mr. Raymond 
Armsby and Mr. Charles Hayden 
have joined them and the entire group 
sailed for the Orient where they will 
loiter and stroll, arriving in India for 
Christmas. Eventually they will reach 
Paris and then on to the Riviera 
where all the smart New York and 
Continental world is summering. 
« « « 

THERE have been several betroth- 
als of great importance which 
have momentarily snatched from the 
debs the entire spotlight. Lovely, pa- 
trician Harriet W'irtner, who is noted 
in society for her gracious charm, will 
become the bride of Noble Hueter in 
the spring, and Phyllis Fay announced 
her betrothal the same week to Arthur 
Stevenson. One blonde, the other 
brunette; both are among the Junior 
League's most beautiful girls, and of 
course the tea cups have been buzzing 
with excitement ever since. Another 
engagement of interest was that of 
Helen Foster to Mr. Hans Koebig, of 
Los Angeles. A quiet wedding in De- 
cember will take place owing to the 
recent death of Mrs. Walter Foster. 
The bride-elect is the sister of that 
exceedingly attractive person, Blair 
Foster, who with his charming bride 
(Edna Christenson) returned from 
honeymooning in Europe a few months 
ago and has now moved to Burlin- 

« « « 

MISS Barbara Harrison, who 
is visiting her aunt, Mrs. Robert 
Henderson in Burlingame, was the 
guest of honor at a dinner given re- 
cently by Mrs. Irwin Crocker at her 
apartment at the Hotel St. Francis. 
Miss Harrison will be here only for a 
short time, and then will return to 
Washington to join her sister, Mrs. 
Christian Gross, and Mr. Gross. Miss 
Harrison has lived in Paris for the last 
few years and Mr. and Mrs. Gross 
have also made their home there. 
They recently returned to Washing- 
ton. Miss Harrison passed the greater 
part of her childhood in California 
following the death of her mother, the 
former Miss Mary Crocker. She is a 
niece of Mr. Templeton Crocker, and 
is a granddaughter of the late Colonel 
and Mrs. Fred Crocker. The guests at 
the dinner were Mr. and Mrs. John 

(O)ntinucd on Page ji) 

The San Franciscan 

120 1 

As Seen By Her 

Casual Explorations Mainly in the Shops 

HERE it is only the first of No- 
vember with the Big Game 
yet two weeks away .... and 
why should I be thinking of Christ- 
mas doodads and what to give father 
and mother .... when I never do my 
Christmas shopping until twenty- 
four hours before it happens. It must 
be the subtle influence of good show- 
manship. What with the White House 
displaying the grandest gifts from 
"six continents and seven seas" and 
Shreves, with its chaste suggestion 
"that orders for greeting cards should 
be placed at once," .... no wonder 
my casual explorations turned into a 
search for holiaay exchanges. 
% i t 

THE question is, which you would 
rather have first .... the places 
directly downtown where I made some 
of my best discoveries or those which 
were more difficult to reach but were 
well worth the trouble of ferreting 
out. The Swedish Applied Arts, for 
instance. It is located in an old house 
at 2519 Webster near Jackson under 
under the direction of Axel Gravan- 
der. The large living room on the 
second floor is devoted to the shop. 
What took my special fancy among 
the many things displayed in the 
cases, were the droll wood carvings 
done by Trigger of the Swedish fisher 
folk and coast farmers. Mr. Gravan- 
der said that whenever he feels blue 
he looks at these little figures and 
they cheer him wonderfully. Certainly 
they seemed thejolliest sort of remedy 
to me. There are, too, some very beau- 
tiful Swedish smoked glass, bottles, 
goblets, vases and what not ; a vast 
amount of lovely linens, all of course, 
hand-woven, and an enchanting dis- 
play of Swedish and Danish pewter 
and brass, at prices which are ab- 
surdly low. 

WHY I should have picked lamp 
shades out of all the hundreds 
and hundreds of beautiful things the 
City of Paris is showing would be dif- 
ficult to answer. For one thing it must 
have been the clever way they were 
displayed. I thought at first the shades 
were made of a new batik paper .... 
but, no, on closer inspection the ma- 
terial proved to be a w axed linen. The 
effect of the gay floral patterns under 
light is delightful, especially against a 
neutral wall. The shades are eight and 
twelve inches high, priced at $4.50 

By Soigne 

and $7.50, fold very compactly into a 
small box and make an admirable 
gift for a person who travels much, or 
a girl who is away at school. 
« t \ 

NOT so far out and quite easy of 
access, is the Peasant Cottage 
at 1428 Polk Street. There was a fire 
basket in the window which 1 thought 
a lovely color and so sturdy, as a fire 
basket ought to be, which proved to 
be the handicraft of the North Caro- 
lina mountaineers. There are two 
shapes, both made of split oak and 
are priced from $4.00 up. The master 
of the cottage also confided that he 
had a shipment of cunning footstools 
on the U'ay from North Carolina. Odd 
pieces of hooked rugs are gathered up 
in the mountain homes and the stools 
are made to fit the top. The Peasant 
Cottage had a few of them earlier this 
year, which customers snapped up 
immediately. They vary in price from 
$4.00 to $10.00. 

STILL on the subject of wood bas- 
kets, I found a stunning one at 
Harry Dixon's. He has taken the large 
split bamboo baskets and had them 
colored with analine dyes. The one he 
showed me was a glorious Padre 
brown interspersed with shadings of 
the natural bamboo. Then to make 
the basket both utilitarian and dec- 
orative .... he has added feet, cor- 
ners and handles of hammered cop- 
per. The basket is not as heavy as an 
all metal one and easily carried. 

Next door to Harry Dixon's is the 
Junior League Shop. For those who 
would like greeting cards this year 
which are more friendly than the 
usual printed-to-pattern kind, there 
is an excellent collection of California 
etchings by John StoU. 
« « « 

What's most amusing and de- 
lightful about exploring is tea 
along about four o'clock. The diffi- 
culty is to decide whether one should 
go smart and have it on top of the hill 
at the Mark Hopkins, where you can 
watch the twilight slip down over the 
city, or go Bohemian on the lesser 
levels. The Gypsy Tea Room at 41 
Grant Avenue was suggested for the 
latter. The lure here is having your 
fortune told in tea leaves. This 1 
found not so impressive, not nearly so 
much so as, since I had come off with- 

out cigarettes, I found a box of my 
particular brand on the table to greet 
me. t t "i 

AND why haven't I ever discov- 
ered before that as a raconteur 
of droll stories, Mr. George, the dec- 
orator, is simply priceless. It must be 
such fun to have him do a house. Mr. 
Jones, the other half of the firm of 
Jones and George, is now in the East 
superintending the shipment of 
antiques, while Mr. George stays at 
home and wonders what he will do 
with them when they reach here .... 
the firm being badly in need of more 
space. There will be thrilling discov- 
eries in store for you when they arrive ; 
old Dutch silver, old glass and rare 
pieces of furniture which have been 
in the possession of Pennsylvania- 
Dutch farmers these many genera- 

Old glass and replicas of old glass 
are everywhere, but none more lovely 
than the Venetian glass I found at 
Old Venice. I love glass, but I'm such 
a dud about it. I couldn't possibly 
have told you before the difference 
between French, Spanish and Italian. 
Venetian Glass, I discovered is con- 
sidered a peer among peers. It is so 
beautifully thin and translucent. 

Now for two discoveries made in 
the realm of man. There are 
two shops devoted entirely to their 
welfare which seem to me ought to 
prove veritable treasure sources to 
sweethearts, wives and mothers. 

Booker and Petermann, who have 
recently opened a shoe shop at 352 
Post Street are showing house sandals 
called Samarkand, which certainly 
look both smart and comfortable. 
They are made of laced leatherthongs. 
a la the French sandal so popular this 
summer. These have a stout leather 
sole, come in sizes for both men and 
women and are only $5.00. 

Pete Burn's shop on the second 
floor at 1 1 Post Street is proof of the 
old adage that if you have "it " the 
world will make tracks to your door. 
Pete Burns has successfully catered 
to the college youth over in Berkeley 
for several years, and within the last 
year in this shop to the alumni. If the 
women haven't found this lair yet, 
they should immediately. For those 
who like scarfs tailored, he has a 
simply swell collection, hot from 
Engand and Scotland. 

The San Franciscan 

f 21 I 


By Challis Silvay. 


And here are 

the incorrigible rumps 

of the nouveau riche 


in ecstatic devotion 

to the bewildered spirit 

of Terpsichore ! . . . . 

Once more is Corot 

marred by Cezanne ! . . . . 

The San Franciscan 

ff 22 1 

Books of the Month 

Some Critical Comment on Recent Publications 

PROBABLY Chaliapin's greatest 
secret as an artist of singing and 
acting is liis ability to limit power 
with subtlety. For years he has been 
accused of losing his voice simply 
because he did not bellow at the top 
of it. Such misunderstanding is merely 
the price of genius. Even today no- 
body can touch him for vocal power, 
as is seen in certain of his concerts 
when he lets himself go, but in his 
great operatic characterisation he 
has learned that artistic restraint 
without which he would merely be a 
man with a loud voice. 

In his autobiography, Pages From 
My Life, the man with the loud voice 
and the great artist are both present. 
After we had taken into account that 
famous myth, Russian frankness, 
which per se is no more significant 
than English reserve, we had the un- 
comfortable feeling that Chaliapin's 
descriptions of his life and conquests 
were just about the sort of thing one 
would expect from Henry Ford, the 
Prince of Wales or any other mate- 
rially successful man. There seemed a 
great many facts and very little re- 
flection of reality, quite the opposite 
from Stanislavsky's sensitive account 
of his life as an artist. Not that the 
facts are uninteresting. On the con- 
trary they provide fascinatingglimpses 
of the great baritone's varied career, 
and you can argue that he does not 
need to expose the secrets of his life 
when his actions proclaim them so 
eloquently. After all what we value 
even in Rousseau's Confessions is not 
his explanations of himself but his 
description of the actions that caused 

Just the same we hoped to discover 
in Pages From My Life a fragment of 
Chaliapin's genius and argued some- 
what ingenuously that being a great 
actor he should also be a great writer. 
That he did not fail us seems to prove 
that dreams come true after all. Cer- 
tain pages are as profound as one 
could wish from the creator of Boris 
Goudonov or Mefistofele, and the 
book ends with a disturbingly beauti- 
ful passage in which the man and the 
artist has let loose his splendid re- 
serves of venom and praise, despair 
and hope, power and subtlety. 
Paces From My Life 
by Feodor Ivanovitch Chaliapin. 
(Harpers. $^.oo) 

By Joseph Henderson 

}UST when we were thinking of com- 
posing a very nice little essay for 
the Atlantic Monthly on the recent 
decline of American criticism, Mr. 
Elmer Davis published Show Win- 
dow, an anthology of his latest articles, 
and changed our plans abruptly. 
Furthermore we suspect that our very 
nice little essay will never be written 
during Mr. Davis' lifetime. Like H. 
L. Mencken his criticism is the elastic 
kind which covers politics, literature, 
religion and the American Scene in 
general, but he would be dreadfully 
shocked to hear himself compared in 
any way with the writer of Prejudices. 
In his own words, "I am as unable to 
believe in the verbal inspiration of 
H. L. Mencken as in that of Calvin 
Coolidge. " In other words he is un- 
orthodox any way you look at it. 

In spite of this very welcome eman- 
cipation Mr. Davis has a few prej- 
udices of his own, notably contem- 
porary literature, Mayor Thompson, 
Indiana, and Bishop Manning. The 
Age of Impotence is an extremely bril- 
liant attack on literature of the James 
Joyce-AldousHuxely schools. It con- 
tains, at its best, the very last word in 
literary criticism and, at its worst, is 
a little too facilely general. It de- 
serves the attention if not the belief 
of every astute reader. On the other 
hand, it is impossible not to believe 
Have Faith in Indiana, Portrait of a 
Cleric, and Portrait of an Elected Per- 
son. Of their kind they are simply 
perfect. With a remarkable propen- 
sity for antithesis, observation, eru- 
dition and wit, Mr. Davis has deliv- 
ered a magnificently subtle wallop 
(but nevertheless a wallop) at several 
very prominent American persons 
and institutions. 

There are other essays, some a little 
too anxious to please or instruct, and 
others which smell rather strongly of 
nevxspaper ink, but we recommend 
them all if only for the salutary effect 
they ought to have on dinner-table 
conversation this winter. 
Show Window, by Elmer Davis 

(Dav. $2. so). 

« « « 

INTELLECTUAL and artistic fashions, 
however widely spread, are at bot- 
tom racial or national. Bolshevism 
belongs to Russia, Symbolistic poetry 
to France, Christian Science to 
America and, in spite of its thousands 
of votaries all over the world, psycho- 

analysis, as originally propounded by 
Freud and Jung, is basically German. 
It follows somewhat logically, per- 
haps, that the finest examples of 
Freudian literature should come from 
German and Austrian writers, but 
logical or not it seems to us to be the 
case. Thomas Mann and Arthur 
Schnitzler have already indicated this 
and Stefan Zweig confirms it as much 
as they. 

Mr. Zweig's Conflicts is a volume of 
three short stories, each one based on 
a case of abnormal psychology. That 
sounds forbidding as usual but we 
assure you that these stories are 
naturally conceived, beautifully done 
and interesting to read. What differ- 
entiates Mr. Zweig from most of his 
American, French and English con- 
temporaries is that he has fearlessly 
observed and recreated certain un- 
usual manifestations of life whereas 
they have spent their time reading 
Freud's text books. As a result, the 
three stories in Conflicts have nothing 
to analyze, instruct, praise or deplore. 
They are merely superb fiction. 
Conflicts, by Stefan Zweig. (Viking 

Press) . 

WE expended considerable effort 
and exhausted the patience of 
every bookseller in town trying to 
find a smart, worldly, amusing (and 
intelligent) little novel to pass on to 
our readers. Alas we were unsuccess- 
ful, and when this issue goes to press 
Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises, 
Giradoux's Bella, and Pettit s Son of 
the Grand Eunuch are still the best of 
their kind the year has produced. By 
next month we promise to round up a 
new bit of worthwhile sophistication; 
but in the meantime, just to be per- 
verse, we are going to recommend the 
most naive, pastoral book that has 
come out of France since George 
Sand quit writing. It is called The 
End of a World and Claude Anet is its 
author. It is the simple story of a 
Cro-Magnon youth (of course you 
knew that the Cro-Magnons lived at 
the end of the Reindeer Age) who 
comes up against the forward march 
of evolution with a loud impact. 
Although there is plenty of very nice 
romance and sex, M. Anet's real 
object is to recreate imaginatively 
the superior life and culture of an 
extinct race of men. With the help of 
Sir James Frazer, Freud, archeology 

'Continued on Page 17) 

The San Franciscan 

123 1 

Greta Garbo 

Photograph by Arnold Ccnthe, N. Y. 

Norse beauty of the screen, who has recently completed her portrayal of Anna 
Karenina in the picturization of Tolstoy's classic which will be presented to the 
moving picture public as "Love." 

The San Franciscan 



The Powers That Direct the Destiny of San Francisco 

Charles Peter Weeks 

B\ ZoE A. Battu 

UPON these pages have been 
sung the praises of captains 
of industry, of hankers, ship- 
ping men, manufacturers, the heads 
of great corporations. Splendid men 
they are, whose financial vision and 
commercial acumen are broadening 
and strengthening the foundations 
upon which a great city may rise to 
further greatness. 

Now we come to tell the tale of 
quite a different sort of man. of one. 
Charles Peter Weeks, the architect. 
Other men deal in steel and stone, 
cargoes and ships, dollars and com- 
modities largely to the end of build- 
ing an empire and great enterprises 
that contribute to the wealth of the 
people. Charles Peter W eeks deals in 
steel and stone primarily, that the San 
Francisco tradition of a proud and 
beautiful city may be preserved and 
given new vitality. 

And surely this is an end worthy to 
be noted, when it has to do w ith the 
things that have made San Francisco 
a city loved by all w ho have no ear for 
the platitudes of standardization, but 
a sensitive ear and fluent tongue for 
the fine language of beauty and the 
exquisite art of good living. Does not 
the charm of this city lie. to a great 
extent in her hills, crow ned by homes 
and buildings of benign and lordly 
majesty We are an hospitable, gay 
and pleasure loving people, but these 
traits come with easy and lovely non- 
chalance to those who dwell upon 
such hills above such a glorious bay 

And w hat shall it profit this city, if 
in becoming great in the w ays of uni- 
formity and modernity, she loses the 
gracious dignity of an indi\iduality 
that is infinitely beyond and above 
the delusion of mere quantity Noth- 
ing — nothing! But she shall not lose 
it — at least not w hile we have in our 
midst such men as Charles Peter 
Weeks. Let us do our architects honor. 

Charles Peter tells us. by way of 
details, that he w as not born in San 
Francisco, but in Ohio. This circum- 
stance of his birth w as, of course more 
or less of a social error, for w hich he 
cannot be held entirely responsible. 
He makes amends for it by being a 
graduate of L'Ecole des Beaux Arts 
Paris and through the fact that he has 

lived and worked among us for some 
twenty-seven years. It can also be 
noted to Week's vast credit that a 
hobby from which he derives great 
enjoyment is that of sketching. 

He tells us also that he came to 
California originally as the associate 
and chief designer of John Galen 
Howard, who had been called to the 
University of California to supervise 
the architectural development of its 
campus and head its school of Archi- 
tecture. \\ eeks continued for several 
years as the associate of Howard and 
thus is identified with the planning 
and construction of the more impor- 
tant uni\ersity buildings, built from 
the Hearst endow ments. In a compe- 
tition held some years ago for designs 
on the State Library Building and a 
state office building in Sacramento, 
\V eeks produced the chosen designs. 
These competitions w ere nation w ide. 
attracting the finest architectural skill 
of the country. He likewise was the 
w inner of the competition for the Aus- 
tralian Parliament Building. 

CHARLES Peter Weeks runs true 
to the form of the architectural 
profession in that he has no end of 
ideas on city planning, the proper pro- 
visions for and suitable disposal of 
park and playground space, monu- 
ments, museums, public buildings 
and such like heritages to future gen- 
erations It would take considerably 
more space than we have here to go 
into all these things, but let it be said 
in the interests of proper presenta- 
tion of opera, that Weeks considers a 
new opera house something in the 
nature of an imperative necessity, 
rather than a questionable luxury to 
be procrastinated over. 

i i « 

Within the last dozen years or so. 
Weeks has been identified in shaping 
the course of new tide that has def- 
initely set in upon the hills in the 
northwestern part of the city and the 
Pacific Heights area. This district so 
long given over to the homes of those 
w ho ha\e headed the destinies of San 
Francisco — financial, commercial, ar- 

tistic and otherwise, becomes with 
the increase of population more valu- 
able. Individual building lots, com- 
manding a marine view are worth the 
proverbial kings ransom. It is far too 
costly for one family to occupy one 
lone house upon them — a lamentable 
fact in one light, since it marks the 
passing of a glamorous era. 

W e must, however, bow to the in- 
evitability of time and change But 
what is happening now? Walking 
about Nob Hill, we see upon one cor- 
ner, opposite a famous hotel, the tow- 
ering mass of an apartment house; 
upon another corner is a recently 
completed hotel ; farther up the street 
are two more apartment houses. Pro- 
ceeding along California Street. Wash- 
ington, Green, Pacific, there are more 
of these structures, containing not the 
home of one family but of many. How 
they change the skyline of San Fran- 
cisco! Seen from a ship, entering the 
harbor, they seem to spring from the 
hills, to rise in lithe strength like sheer 
slender shafts. There is something 
haughty about them, something mys- 
tical, even as they stand swathed in 
fogs, or etched sharply against the 
skies, in crystal sunlight. 

; i i 

THESE proud and stately towers 
are the work of Charles \\ eeks. 
He might have built them square, 
squat, prosaic masses Instead he 
builds them in the graceful fashion of 
young giants. This is his contribution 
to the end that a city so long noted 
for its beauty, may still have a com- 
manding beauty even though an ol 
order passes and is no more. 

Looking into the future, for every 
architect is a fantastical futurist, 
whose visions run to cities of fearful 
beauty. Weeks prophesies the day 
when San Francisco's hills will be 
completely covered w ith these shafts 
of steel and stone. What a city to 
come upon' The skyline of New "'I'ork 
w ith its masses upon masses of sky- 
scrapers. London Paris — impressive, 
yes. But San Francisco, ah — a city of 
great hills, topped by towers that 
speak with the sun and the clouds. 
This is the vision of a city mighty, 
terrible, magnificent! 

The San Franciscan 


Alta Street, San Francisco, By Howard Simon 

The San 


[26 1 

Etude In Ugliness 

(Continued from Page 16) 

fleeted, and he could not help think- 
ing of her. 

One afternoon Stephen encountered 
Eva at the rain barrel. 

"I dropped my ring in the barrel," 
she said pressing against the lilac 

'Til get it out for you," he offered. 
"Will you?" Her eyes fluttered."! 
got to get it." 

"Sure. I'll fish it out." 

"Will you get it now?" she asked 

"I'll get it some time today and 
give it to you tomorrow." 

"Thanks ever so much. " 

"You're welcome. " 

She hesitated. "I'm sorry to trouble 

Stephen mumbled something in 
answer and watched her disappear 
around the corner of the house. 

Rain barrels suddenly became sig- 
nificantly romantic and beautiful in 
Stephen's eyes. That same evening he 
stood on the hallowed spot tremul- 
ously happy and expectant. Eva's 
ring was clasped tight in his palm. 
The damp wood of the barrel smelled 
innocently sweet and the perfume of 
the lilacs was a delicate pain. As he 
tried to define just what it was in the 
perfume of the lilacs that made him 
feel so strange he saw a white 
figure approaching. His heart pounded 
heavily, painfully. It was Eva. 

"Did you get it? " she asked ner- 

"Yes. Here it is. " He dropped the 
ring into her extended palm. 

"1 thought it was better to get it 
tonight. If my mother knew I lost it 
she would scold me. " 

Stephen eyed her suspiciously. 
"Maybe you came tonight because 
you were afraid I'd keep the ring. 
Maybe you thought I'd," he choked. 
"I'd steal it." 

"Gee, no. You're crazy. I kneu' you 
wouldn't. " 

"How did you know I wouldn't^ ' 
he asked gloomily. 

"Because — I don't know — because 
I like you. Everybody likes you," she 

"Your father thinks I'm lazy." He 
shuffled his feet. 

"He thinks everybody is lazy," she 
assured him. 

"Nobody likes me, but so long as 
you like me it's alright." He hesitated 
and fastened his eyes on her fair 
bowed head. "Cause I like you, see. 

She drew nearer to him. "I like to 
play with the water, don't you?" She 

dipped her fingers into the rain barrel. 
Stephen did likewise. She was dan- 
gerously near. She came nearer. 
Stephen turned his face away and a 
light chaste kiss meant for his lips fell 
on his throat. He shuddered and 
turned to her but she eluded him and 
vanished around a corner of the house. 
« « « 

SEVERAL evenings later Stephen sat 
disconsolately on a box in the 
bunkhouse, watching the four men 
who were busy at cards. Stephen s 
brain was whirling with thoughts of 
Eva — Elaine, Eva and other women, 
women in books, in pictures, in 
dreams, women without end. He was 
restless and confused. 

"What are you thinking about, 
kid?" one of the men asked. 

"Nothing." He shook his head. 
"Just nothing. " 

"Aw, come on, tell us about it," 
they urged. 

"Jesus, I'm not happy. That's what 
I was thinking about. I'm not happy" 

The men grimaced. They did not 
answer him. They did not know what 
to say. 

"Tell me about the city, will you?" 
Stephen asked. 

"What do you want to know? " 

"Everything. " 

"Well," one of them began awk- 
wardly, "it's a big place. There's a 
lot of noise, roaring streets and clang- 
ing cars, thousands of automobiles, 
tall buildings, stores, whole streets 
full of stores. There's trains rushing in 
and out all day and all night. People 
rush about like it was a matter of life 
or death. There's parks where beggars 
sit and kids go to get a breath of fresh 
air, and there's hospitals. Say you 
oughta see the new county hospital 
they've got. It's just one building 
after another all attached together, 
with glass halls so the nurses and doc- 
tors can run to and fro without hav- 
ing to go out in the air. God, there's 
thousands of rooms in it filled with 
the sick and dying paupers." 

Stephen shivered. 

"You better get that city idea out 
of your head. It's no place for a kid 
like you." 

"But I can't stand it here — always." 

The men shrugged their shoulders 
and went back to their cards, while 
Stephen again fell into the gloomy 
morass of his thoughts. 

There was an inner voice that cried 
to Stephen in ahighhysterical tone:"I 
don't want to work — I don't want to 
work hard — I don't want to work at 
all. There's a rusty rifle in the corner. 
Maybe one works in the grave fight- 
ing off the worms. There's no use 
working. There's no use trying. Isn't 

the ugliest thing in the w rold always 
waiting at the end^ "Your mother 
died, so you know how it is. Die now 
and get it over with. The rest of the 
people are crazy. They forget they 
have to die. Eva is crazy. She worries 
about a ring. She forgets she has to 
die. The world is funny. It is. not 
good, no, it is not good." 
« ? ¥ 

MORNiNG, day, night. Rising, 
working, sleeping. The season 
was passing but it would come again. 
A huge misery swell ing and swell- 
ing within Stephen's head. The road 
was thick with red dust. It would be 
good to walk down the road and never 
turn back, to quit this part of the 
country for good. It w,ould be good to 
walk straight ahead — let everything 
go — scream to the hills, roll in the 
thick red dust and never return. Take 
the rusty rifle and be strong. Face 
everything right away and get it over 
with. The world would not care. The 
world was too big and solemn to trifle 

A delirium of doubt and the dusty 
road ever inviting him. The purple 
hills were big, quiet and menacing. 
Eva was amusing but she was not 
amusing enough to make one forget 
the rifle and the road. Besides, she 
had a sore foot. Her shoe was cut 
because her foot was sore and swol- 
len. It was not pretty. 

Which day should it be? 

At last the twilight road and the 
darkness gathering fast. The autum- 
nal darkness. Curious shadows lurked 
behind each bush and tree. Behind 
the purple hills the sky was gloriously 
crimson. The rusty rifle gritted un- 
pleasantly against theskin of Stephen's 
hand. It was heavy. It would be good 
to run fast and to scream, louder and 
louder, as one ran. 

But it was so quiet. It was better 
not to scream for fear of waking some- 
thing. A distant cow-bell sent shivers 
of lonesomeness through one s soul. 
Desolate. The w.ord "desolate." Just 
that word was enough to make life 
miserable. How often he had heard his 
mother use the word "desolate. "Where 
had she learned it? She had never 
gone to school. It seemed to Stephen 
if his mother had never used the word 
"desolate " he would have been like 
other people. 

The dust was heavy about his feet. 
His shoes were grey with it and the 
skin of his face was cracked with dust 
and fever and tears. His eyes throbbed 
in their sockets and seemed to grow 
larger and larger. There was no re- 
turning and there was no new place 
to go. The muteness of the landscape 
infuriated him. Still he was glad of 

The San Franciscan 

I 27 1 

the silence. The moment had come. It 
was getting dark. If it was too dark 
he would run and go back and they 
would cry: "Lazy. All women are the 
same. Three cards. Little Beauty. 
Eva. Fish my ring out, my ring, my 
ring. Dunce, what are you ashamed 
of?" Elaine. There was no Elaine. 
There was only a cut shoe with a 
hideous bandag«;d toe bulging out. 
The cities were made of hospitals and 
parks where beggars sat. The mo- 
ment had come! 

The sound of a discharged rifle dis- 
turbed the calm of the twilight but 
the low purple hills were not pricked 
into sentience by it. 

Books of the Month 

(Continued from Page zi) 

and his ov\n gracious style, he has 
done extraordinarily well and the 
volume is charmingly decorated with 
reproductions of primitive drawings 
and sculpture. It is a nice book to 
have lying around even if you havn't 
time to read it. 

The End of a World, by Claude 
Anet. (Alferd Knopf. $j.oo). 

i i « 
The follow ing recent books are also 



Black Stream, by Nathalie Colby. 
{Harcourt, Brace). 

The American Caravan, a year 
book of American literature. (Mac- 

Three Wives, by Beatrice Kean 
Seymour. (Knof)/). 

Strange Woman, by Elmer Davis. 

The Lordly Ones, by B. H. Leh- 
man. {Harper). 

Death Comes for the Archbishop, 
by Willa Cather.(KnOib/). 

The Grandmothers, by Glenuay 
W'escott. (Harpers). 

Dusty Answer, by Rosamond Leh- 
man. (Holt). 

A Good Woman, 

Blue Voyage, 

The President's Daughter, by Nan 

Britton. (Elizabeth Ann Guild). 
Journal of Katherine Mansfield. 

Land of the Pilgrim's Pride, by 

George Jean Nathan. (KnOjb/). 
Circus Parade, bv |im Tullv (A. 6" 

C. Boni). 
Napoleon, by Emil Ludwig. (Little, 

Brown & Co.) 

by Louis Bromfield. 
bv Conrad Aiken. 

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548 S. Si'RiNt^ SrRKE'r 

2 Pine Street 

10 Hanover Square 

The San Franciscan 

f 28 1 

The Fair Art of Criticism 

(Continued from Page 14) 

characteristic of wealth and aristoc- 
racy. Of all the arts, music might 
oftenest pray to be delivered from its 
friends, for they are the people who 
most misrepresent it in speech and 

t » « 

IT cannot be too frequently or too 
urgently repeated that there is no 
intellectual or class reason why the 
man who likes ""The Rosary " and the 
productions of Mr. Irving Berlin, 
should not equally well comprehend 
and enjoy Bach and Beethoven; and 
any one who can find meaning and 
pleasure in jazz can find meaning and 
pleasure in the best of Stravinsky and 
Schonberg. The only genuine difficulty 
encountered by the plain man who 
would understand and enjoy good 
music is that it so often is recom- 
mended by disagreeable people who 
assert violently in one breath that it 
can never, never have any meaning in 
the sense that a story or poem has 
meaning, and that it is the only thing 
that any one has any right to like. 

Granting, then, that criticism is not 
necessarily condemnation; that there 
is a difference between good music 
and bad; and that critics are needed; 
What goes to make a musical critic, 
and on what shall he base his judg- 
ment of musical values' 

The critical faculty is innate in an 
individual, or it is not. If it is not, no 
knowledge, experience, training, or 
taking of thought can achieve it. But 
where it is present, if there is also a 
wide knowledge of music, musicians 
and performances, there is at least the 
foundation on which may be built a 
critical career. If such an individual 
will resolutely keep his mind both 
open and humble, he can judge with 
reasonable accuracy as to the true 
value of any given composition no 
matter how strange it may appear at 
first, and of any performance or per- 

No judgment can be legitimate, or 
is worth a picayune, except of music 
as music, and of musicians as musi- 
cians. Wordsworth says somewhere 
that poets do not write for poets but 
for men. If the critic can remember at 
all times that he is writing, not for 
musicians, not for technicians, not for 
devotees, but for men; and that he is 
judging, not deviations and idiosyn- 
cracies and curiosities, but music as 
music, there will result an instant and 
blessed simplification of his task. 

A composition or a performance is 





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The San Franciscan 

129 1 

not good or bad because it adheres to 
or deviates from some canonized set 
of rules. Any mere strangeness will 
change all too quickly by familiarity 
to pure commonplace. Has the per- 
formance or the collection of sounds 
presented — vitality? is it alive in its 
own right ^ Has it originality? does it 
stand on its own feet, or is it a rehash 
of old material and old effects, how- 
ever cleverly contrived or offered^ Is 
it music? By this trinity, and by this 
trinity alone, shall any composition 
or performance ultimately stand or 

Literary Linguistics 

(Continued from Page 15) 

A little dragged in by the hair but de- 
cidedly better than the usual Venice, 
"bride of the Adriatic" or "fairest 
flower of the Renaissance." 

Meanwhile, sound workmen simpli- 
fying the previous linguistic simpli- 
fications were obtaining beautiful 
results. Katherine Mansfield's lan- 
guage is an artistic translation oi 
what her characters (for the most part 
doudy English suburbans) would find 
natural to use. and her images grow 
out of and explain her characters psy- 
chologically. In "A Married Man's 
Story" a druggist has poisoned his 
wife. Thus the description of the 
druggist dressed for the funeral : "That 
tall hat so gleaming black and round 
was covered with black sealing-wax 
and the rest of him w,as awfully like a 
bottle with his face for the label "Deacf/y 
Poison." Morand, writing of febrile 
twentieth century continentals, pep- 
pers his pages with adroit references 
to express trains, Picasso drawings, 
Jazz, and Freudian discoveries, creat- 
ing a sublimated modern world of his 
own for his characters to inhabit. 
Sherwood Anderson, by a calculated 
repetition of common American words, 
sound and images recreates for us the 
interminable monotony of the slug- 
gish rivers, vast plains and drab cities 
of the Middle West. 

« « « 

FROM the glorious towers of Joyce 
and Proust to the charming man- 
sards of Firbank and Mansfield with 
all the little Van Vechtens, Morleys 
and Wylies on the doorstep there is a 
conscious devotion to craft from which 
has emerged a new literary freedom 
of speech adapted to an age of movie 
reels, ineffectual royalty, high power 
evangelism and symphony concerts 
plus. Sophisticated and eclectic, if 
you like, but what school of w riting is 
not '} Romantic poetry, Greek Drama, 

(Cilontinued on page jo) 

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The San Franciscan 
I 30 I 


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Literary Linguistics 

(Continued from Page 29) 

the Realistic Novel all are esoteric 
products of a few chosen artists. 

Above all. the element variety shouts 
for recognition. From this noisy Babel 
we can catch every kind of voice from 
the sharp witty accents of French dip- 
lomats in their rococo embassies to 
the richly monotonous r's and a's of 
Americans born to a life of the soil or 
the skyscraper, and they have all 
learned to use a miraculous twentieth 
century megaphone designed to carry 
their Words above the infantile 
cacophony of radios on one hand and 
the senile chanting of baroque papcies 
on the other. 

What they really have to say is not 
for me to discuss, but I promise in ad- 
vance that although they talk of most 
everything in the world including 
dreams (Freud is godfather to them 
all) they will never, no never, say 

Many Happy Returns 

(Continued from Page lo) 

October 21st. 
Joseph Dyer, 
The San Franciscan, 
San Francisco, Calif. 

Best of all wishes on first birthday. 
You should have at least hundred 
more stop I mean your magazine stop 
The San Franciscan is not only 
needed but indispensible to western 
and literary art. 

Idwal Jones 

« « « 

October 26th, 7927 
Mr. Joseph Dyer, Editor, 
The San Franciscan, 
San Francisco, Calif. 
Dear Mr. Dyer: 

The San Franciscan has demon- 
strated that it is a clever publication, 
published by clever people, for clever 
people. Can I say more? 
Yours truly, 

Paul Shoup 

% i t 

October 21, 7927 
Editor, The San Franciscan, 
San Francisco, Calif. 

Permit me on your anniversary to 
cheer you on to many years of sym- 
pathetic and pugnacious interpreta- 
tion of traditional and contemporary 
culture of Northern California. 

Oliver M. Sayler 

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The San Franciscan 

131 1 

The Reigning Dynasty 

(Continued Irom Page ig) 

B. Casserly, Jr., Mr. and Mrs. Robert 
Gay Hooker, Jr., Mr. and Mrs. How- 
ard Spreckels, Mr. and Mrs. Kenneth 
Walsh, Mr. and Mrs. Bliss Rucker. 
Mr. and Mrs. James Davies, Mr. and 
Mrs. William A. Magee, Jr., Mr. and 
Mrs. Robert Henderson, Mr. and 
Mrs. Jerd Sullivan, Mr. and Mrs. 
Alfred Hendrickson, Missjanet Whit- 
man, Miss Mary Clark, Miss Ynez 
Mejia, Miss Claudine Spreckels, Mr. 
George Pope, Jr , Mr. John Hooker, 
Mr. Frank Drum, Mr. Covington 
Janin, Mr. George Montgomery and 
Mr. Gordon Johnson. 
« i « 

INVITATIONS have been received for 
the wedding of Idabelle Wheaton 
and young George Tallant, of Santa 
Barbara, for November 1 5th. The days 
seem entirely filled w ith a "number of 
things" in the intervening time. Mr. 
and Mrs. Charles Oelrichs Martin 
gave a dinner recently in their honor 
and Mrs. John Johnston gave a large 
tea, and on Sunday, Mary Clark ga\'e 
a buffet supper at El Palomar. Her 
guests were Mr. and Mrs. Warren 
Clark, Mr. and Mrs. Blair Foster, 
Mr. and Mrs. George Thierbach, Miss 
Mariana Casserly, Miss Agnes Clark, 
Miss Inez Mejia, Mr. Jerome Kuhn, 
Mr. Fenton Kuhn, Mr. William Kuhn, 
Jr., Mr. Richard Hunt Goldsmith, 
Mr. Augustus Taylor and Mr. Thomas 
Breeze, Jr. 

« « « 

ALL the world and his wife de- 
parted to the Southland for the 
University of California and the 
use. game at the Hollywood Bowl. 
For the entire week previous it was a 
matter of all roads leading to Rome or 
Hollywood and the Biltmore and Am- 
bassador Hotels were really quiteSan 
Franciscan in fla\or. Among the dyn- 
asty to motor down were Mr. and 
Mrs. Alfred Hendrickson, Mr. and 
Mrs. Kenneth Walsh, Mr. and Mrs. 
Bliss Rucker, Mr. and Mrs. Jerd Sul- 
livan, Mr. and Mrs. Kenneth Mont- 
eagle. Mr. and Mrs. George Hearst, 
Miss Claudine Spreckels. Miss Alice 
Moffitt, Mr. Leon Walker and Mr. 
Edward Pond. 

<f i « 

GENERAL George A. L Dl rant, 
the military attache of the 
French Embassy in Washington, has 
arrived in California where he will 
spend a week or so before going to the 
Orient, He and his family were guests 
of the Georges de Latours last year 
when they were visiting in San Fran- 

(Continued on next Page) 

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[32 1 

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^ DINNER. . 


Fifth Annual Season— 1927-1928 

El-wyn Artist Series 



OF New York. Inc. 

V 1. Shepherd, Western Manager 

555 Phelan BIdg . San Francisco 


11 - Cardinal Musical Events - 11 


Scottish Rite Auditorium 

1 Alexander Brailowsky 

f ncomf^ari.ihlc Pianislic Genius 

2 Edward Johnson 

Leading Tenor MelropoUtan Opera Co ami 
recently acclaimed hy John McCormack as 

ti'orUr.<! greatest tenor 

3 Mary Lewis 

Bewitching Sofyrano, iMetrof^olitan Of^era Co 

4 Albert Spalding 

I !nqueslionahty Peer of ^"orld's X'lolin 
\ irliiosi 

5 Kathryn Meisle 

Leading Conlrallo Chicago. San hrancisco 
and Los Angeles Cn-ic ()(:ieras 

6 London String Quarter 

Unexcelled Chamher Music Lnsemhle 

7 Nikolai Orloff 

Pianist oj Umtsual Pouer and Brilliance 

8 Hulda Lashanska 

SoprarMX—Faionle PiifilcJ MarcellaSemhrich 

9 Frances Alda 

Pr ima Donna So f^rano . Melrof^oUtanOt^eraCo 

10 Reinald Werrenrath 

Favorite Baritone 

11 John Powell 

Noted American Comf^oser-Picinisl 

Season Tickets $3.50, $5.00 and $8.00 
Save 66 2-3 Per Cent 


Peter D- Conley, in charge of Box Office 

The Reigning Dynasty 

(Continued from prcceeding page) 

SOMEHOW one does not say "Miss" 
Helen Wills. There are those in 
every generation who arise above pre- 
fixes and the gorgeous Helen Wills is 
one of them. At the dinner dance ten- 
dered her at the Bohemian Club by 
James D. Phelan, Charles Bulotti 
sang a paraphrase of the old Victorian 
song, "Who is Sylvia," substituting 
the name "Helen " It is safe to pre- 
sume that every person present either 
consciously or sub-consciously quoted 
the lovely lines of Poe, "Helen, thy 
beauty is to me like those Nicean 
barks of yore." There was much dis- 
cussion, riot within her hearing, of 
course, as to the quality of her beauty. 
Whether or not "beauty" or "charm" 
or "loveliness" were the word to 
define her attractiveness. Her features 
are as perfect as those of the lady in 
the Phrygian cap of the American dol- 
lar, and her eyes are pools of mystery 
and lure. She wears her hair in a 
classic fashion, coifed to reveal her 
shapely head, and certainly she has 
distinction, that imponderable, inde- 
finable thing that makes a whole as- 
semblage feel the presence of indivi- 
dual the moment he enters a room. 
She did not speak at the Phelan din- 
ner and when she arose to acknowledge 
the toast drunk to her she seemed as 
shy as an ingenue. She wore a gown 
of girlish simplicity, flesh-colored 
satin, devoid of trimming, and she 
wore no jewel. Tall, almost Junoesque 
in build, yet not athletic, she satisfied 
every imagination as splendid type of 
American girlhood, and she danced 
divinely. The guests were seated at 
several tables in the spacious jinks of 
agate mystery. "Poker Face" de- 
scribes an attribute and not her fea- 
tures as they have been immortalized 
by Haig Patigian in a bust which 
stood in the middle of the room at the 
party, a thing of beauty and joy for- 
ever, with a great vxreath of laurel at 
the base of the fluted column on which 
it rested. Opposite to the table at 
which the host and his young guest of 
honor were seated was another at 
which the very young guests sat and 
frankly adored Helen. In the group 
was Fred Moody, whose suit for her 
hand has been going on for several 
years. But the only answer is another 
facet of the poker face. 

Mr. and Mrs. Wm. Hendrickson 
have recently returned from a several 
weeks, trip to New York. They went 
East by way of the Panama Canal. 


Frank Carroll GifFen 

Teacher of Singing 


Telephone Gravstone 3320 
By Appointment Only 

Parties and Teas. Hours I I am to b p.m. 

Qypsy Tea I{pom 

41 Grant Ave., 2nd Floor 

Elevator Servicc 

Chicken Salad Sandwich, Cake 
and Tea — 50c 

"A real fortune read gratis J rom your leacuf^" 

Come in and make a wish 

For Reservations Call Douglas 7*^56 

The San Franciscan 

133 1 



The literary context of The San 
Franciscan is calculated to ap- 
peal to the intellect ... to the 
aristocratic intelligence Like- 
wise the advertisements . 

The readers of this magazine 
(who are, incidentally, the one 
cultured audience) do not take 
its advertising for granted. 

It is not only read — it is remem- 



San Francisco Symphony 
Elwyn Artist Series 
Municipal Concerts 
Persinger String Quartet 

Dorothy Moore 





Kearny 2'5'3 


San Francisco 

AN interesting visitor in San Fran- 
cisco is Princess Dimitry Goiit- 
zine of London, who is on an extended 
tour of California. At Chicago she 
was joined by her mother, Mrs. 
Arthur Oxley Probst, now in Los An- 
geles. Prince and Princess Golitzine 
were last in San Francisco en route to 
Vladivostok, where the prince as- 
sumed a naval command. He is the 
son of the late Prince Nicholas, Rus- 
sia's last prime minister, and is now 
in southern France. He saw service in 
the Russo-Japanese War, the World 
War and the Russian Revolution. 

* « « 

ACHiLLE Angeli, who recently 
arrived from Italy to direct the 
decoration of Mrs. Helene Irwin 
Crocker's new Byzantine villa at 
Pebble Beach, will be engaged on the 
job one year. Angeli and his brother 
were in California a few years ago and 
designed and decorated a new ball- 
room for Mr. and Mrs. William H. 
Crocker at their home, "New place," 
in Burlingame. Mrs. Helene Crocker 
this summer purchased the William 
Van Antwerp house in Burlingame, a 
notably attractive place, and will 
divide her time until the completion 
of the Pebble Beach residence be- 
tween the Burlingame home and her 
apartment at the St. Francis Hotel. 

MR. and Mrs. Charles Blyth were 
hosts at a dinner given at their 
home in San Mateo in honor of Count 
and Countess Wurmbrand, the latter 
of whom was Miss Lawton Filer. 

The House of Bull 

(Continued from Page iz) 

Lucrezia: I care not what he thinks. 

I care only for what 1 feel. 
Cesare: You are worse than I. 
Lucrezia: You do me great credit, 

Cesare: Let him have his blonde 

Lucrezia: You do not want her to 

leave because you are yourself 

thinking of her. 
Cesare: Perhaps. {He fingers his 

Lucrezia: We agree. You will do it. 

Cesare: Ah! What a bother. Let us 

drink. {He fills the wine glasses and 

offers Lucrezia a glass). 
Lucrezia: {suspicious, refuses her 

glass). Taste it first. Sweeten my 

cup for me, beloved brother. (T/iey 

laugh loudly and with great merri- 

The Smart Stores of the Peninsula 

urs, IS 
no mean 
Young -Cfldy, 

said the gay Tinker to the French 
doll, beautiful but dumb We're 
giving the youngsters a g-r-a-n-d 
time, this Christmas. 

Two Wonderful Toy Towns 




Our Shopfying .Accounts are Your Convenience 




Dorothy M. Crawford 

at . the . studio . shop . of 



NEiW:/IMAif.l.iR|SS^P0'5'f , 


^ .9. ^ ^ ^4. ^4>"9- 4- 4- 4- 4-4t- 4- -^"^ 4- 4- -J^ 4-4>-9- 4- ^-^-^ 4- 

The San Frb n"c i s c a n 

134 1 " 

■.-.«'*'«W: >:^Ml^', 



Ihi M EC MAM K^\L TERMy, A B Ri l_L_ l^^^h T 

heri-ta'Se of /xht- a(^ d CLJLnruRE 

ATwmTiLTticmMYtxPkE//ionor Th^rRmch civiuzATion 

*l.950 TO $12,000 inCLUDinG Tht TAX.